


Even After You're Gone

by ShezzasCompanion



Series: A More Vicious Motivator [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Lestrade, BAMF Mycroft, Gen, Mary works for Jim, Mentions of Rape, Nightmares, Other, Panic Attacks, Protective John, Rape Aftermath, Villian Mary, mentions of torture, setbacks, shared confidential information
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 28,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShezzasCompanion/pseuds/ShezzasCompanion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Physical wounds healed, Sherlock tries to rebuild what was taken from him at his own pace, but things don't exactly go  that way as critical information about the last few months of his life have seemly slipped into the wrong hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

Sherlock is angry with himself as he begins to throw the papers off his desk, not bothering to notice where they flutter to the floor. He is angry at himself for being so careless, for being noticed, for that damn picture ending up in the paper. And it isn’t the one in the funny hat, god he wished it was.

He wished he hadn’t agreed to go out with John to Tesco’s because he needed to get out more because after being home for two months he had yet to venture farther than Speedy’s. But he assumed that it would have been safe, that he was with John, that no one even knew his existence, that when they saw him he was a figment of their imagination if they saw him at all. Oh but how wrong was he as he walked down the street with John, head bowed slightly as if not to be completely noticed, but he could feel their eyes on him, following him and his every move, but he didn’t know what was going on. And he honestly wish he didn’t find out.

They had been passing by a magazine stand when his eyes fell upon it, his name and face plastered everywhere with one of the worst photos he had ever seen, it was him, but it wasn’t him, well not really the him he wanted to remember. It was from the hospital, the quality was poor, and the lighting was bad but he could make himself out laying on the bed in the shadows. His heart stopped, it plummeted into his stomach, he felt sick and nauseous and before he knew it he was rushing back to the flat as fast as he could.

Mycroft was going to livid, and Lestrade was going to be fuming, and John… John has a look that could kill on his face, or had the last time he had seen him, which was before he had bolted home. People had been staring and whispering and it made him feel worse than he had when the photo had been taken, he didn’t even remember anyone ever being that close to take it, but he had been in and out of consciousness.

Sherlock’s hand were shaking as he threw books across the room, tears streaming down his face as he tried to determine what he had done for that image to be out there for the world to see, what had he done for the world to know he had come back on his terms. The room behind him was a mess, things scattered everywhere.

He didn’t realize when John returned, he didn’t hear the door or the creaking step, no. But he felt him, when the doctor wrapped his arms around him telling him he needed to breathe because he was breathing too quickly.

He was trying, god he was trying but he couldn’t.

"It’s alright Sherlock, It’s fine to be upset, but I need you to breathe."

He nodded. Why did everything hate him?


	2. Silent Vows

In hindsight, John wished he had never pushed Sherlock to going out to do the shopping with him. But he wanted to get him out of the flat, get him some fresh air, get him back use to the fact there was all of London waiting for him, them to explore, when he was ready. Now there was no way Sherlock got to make that choice of when he announced he was still alive, someone had taken that from him now too.

The Doctor sighed as they sat on the floor, the contents of the desk scattered around them, under them too, but that didn’t matter as Sherlock gripped onto his jacket, the material scrunched into his hands in a death grip as he tried to calm his breathing. The detective’s forehead rested in the crook of his neck, he hadn’t expected the taller man to go down like a bag of bricks when he had wrapped his arms around his waist, but it was better than him lashing out.

“Why do they keep taking things from me John?” Sherlock whispered, his warm breath ghosting across John’s neck as Sherlock tilted his head up slightly, eyes rimmed red, voice low and crackling. “Why do they keep taking things from me?”

John set his jaw as he heard the way Sherlock’s voice crack as he asked his question and the doctor vowed that when they found the bastard who thought it was a great idea to make a profit off of his friend’s suffering, he was going to make them suffer. The detective had been through enough without this trying time making front page news on every print news outlet there was in the city.

He didn’t have an answer for Sherlock’s question either, he didn’t know why they had done this, he didn’t completely understand why Moran had done everything he had done to the man he was holding, but he had told the brunette no one was going to hurt him, and he had failed to do that.

“I don’t know why Sherlock.” He said softly as he looked down. “I don’t know, and I wish I did, I wish they could see what I can.”

 

Out of everything that he had been expecting to cross his desk that morning, the daily paper with Sherlock’s face plastered on the front of it was the last thing he expected to see.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The officer muttered as he picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the headline. It was the last thing he expected to read, and the pictures that where under the headline made him feel sick and angry. While one was the usual photograph of Sherlock in the deerstalker he loathed with fiery passion, the one right beside it was one of Sherlock in the hospital. Even with the room dark and the photo partially blurred, he could make out Sherlock rather well, from the mess of curled hair that spilled onto the pillow to the way he was laying on the hospital bed. His hands curled, the paper crumpling around the edges as his eyes scanned the article quickly.

FAMOUS DETECTIVE SUSPECTED TO BE ALIVE

_Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective who reached fame shortly before jumping off the top of Bart’s hospital two years ago, is suspected to be alive. Thought the circumstances in which he was discovered are unknown a secret source claims that Holmes was found during a night raid…_

He slammed the paper down and placed his head in his hands sighing, this was the last thing Sherlock needed, he wasn’t ready for the everyone to know that he was still alive, He had not been ready for anyone other than himself, John, and Mycroft around.  

 Just outside his office, he could hear the squad room alive with activity, out there was a room of people who hated the younger detective for whatever the reason, most of them hated him because he pointed out the flaws and short comings in life, their secrets, then there were those that just hated him because he was different, and they now had everything they ever needed to get back at him for everything he had done to them. And he knew that they were going to use it to their advantage, but that was if Sherlock ever decided to come out of his flat again and if he didn’t Greg couldn’t blame him, how could he? Not after everything he had been through and he knew that whoever had done this was going to pay, and by the time they got through the line, they would be begging Mycroft for such an easy out.


	3. Mycroft

It should have been rather obvious that things were not going to be as easy as it seemed, but Mycroft had been hopeful that his brother would have been left in peace. However that idea was short lived as Anthea came into his office a few weeks after Sherlock had been released from the hospital an unreadable look on her face.

“I think you should see this, Mr. Holmes.” She said as she held out the paper for him to see. The official looked at his assistant before looking at the paper she was holding for him, his eyes widening as he reached out and snatched the paper from her hands. The grayish paper crumpling and tearing slightly at the force. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, he wished that he knew for certain that the person in the picture wasn’t Sherlock. But he knew it was, he knew it was his little brother, that image had been burned into his mind and there was no way he would forget what Sherlock looked as he laid in that bed. Some part of him couldn’t believe that someone he had trusted to the care of his brother had broken confidentiality. However, another aspect of himself should have known better, people would do anything for a quick money, even if it ruined someone’s life even further.

The paper crumpled as he tightened his grip, his anger bubbling under the surface, he didn’t want to think about the fact Sherlock may have already seen the paper, and with his luck he most likely already had, he didn’t want to  think about the discomfort and agony he must have been feeling. Sherlock had been through enough as it was, he hadn’t caught a break since he had been rescued from Serbia, and this was the last thing he needed.

“Get me the number to the clinic, I want to have a nice long chat with the director, I want them to know that this means for their dim future.” He stated as he tossed the paper down onto his desk as Anthea left. The older Holmes sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back into his chair, allowing his mind to wander to the ways he was going to make the clinic and the person was at fault pay for this misdeed. It wouldn’t be as painful as those who set Sherlock up to be kidnapped, tortured, and raped by Moran, but it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park either.

A few moments later Anthea returned with a piece of paper in her hand, Mycroft sitting up and taking it from her as soon as she stopped in front of his desk, he didn’t even bother to dismiss her as he picked up the receiver and began to dial the number, his fingers punching the keys with more force than was necessary as he did so.

It seemed as if they knew he was calling as the phone rang and rang but he doubted their phones flashed with a sign that read ‘pissed off Government official line 4’ though they might was well have one by the time he was finished.

“Queen Elizabeth Medical Center, how may I direct your call” The operator stated as his call was picked up on the 17th ring.

“I need to talk to the hospital’s director.”

“I am sorry sir, we can’t allow calls to be directed to her.”

“I wasn’t making a request.”

“Sir I am not sure who you think you are-“

“I will tell you who I am, I am Mycroft Holmes, a Member of this country’s government and I need to speak to your director and if you can’t transfer my call I will be more than happy to go down there and request to talk to them in person,  but that is the last thing you would want, do I make myself clear?”

“One Moment Sir.” The line went quiet for a moment before the usual call waiting elevator type music came on the line. If it were any other circumstance he would have gone down to the hospital himself, he would have requested to see the person in charge himself, but he doubted he could have kept a level head that long, if he went personally he would tear that hospital apart piece by piece until he found the poor excuse for a human being who sold out his brother’s privacy.

Less than a minute ticked by before the music gave way to the sound of ringing before someone picked up.

“Director Noelene Overton, how may I help you Mr. Holmes?” The woman spoke in a clear crisp voice.

“Director Overton, I was curious as to what happened to your employees that broke confidentiality when it came to current and past patents.”

The line went silent for a moment

“They are terminated from their position and it goes on their file that they breached doctor- patient confidentially, why do you ask?”

“It seems as if one of your employees took it upon themselves to release sensitive information about my brother, including a photograph of him while he was at your facility undergoing treatment and I am not very pleased.” Mycroft stated

“I will look into the matter Sir.”

“I hope you will, also, I plan on looking into the matter myself, since this is such a sensitive case and anyone who was aware that this was to take place will be dealt with in the appropriate manner.” The older holmes allowed the words to sink in for a moment. “Even if it means your facility has to be closed, and if it does, then I shall make sure it happens.”

His words were met with silence as if she was trying to figure out what could be said next.

“There will be no need for that.”

“We will see Director, have a good day.” He hung up the phone before leaning forward, his hands resting in his hands, taking a deep breath. There was so much to do now: Look for the disgusting human being who had done this, repair the damage it had done, ensure that Sherlock was safe and well, the last thing on the list topping everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the fact that the chapters are short and (at least to me) they don't sound right


	4. Crowded

It took less than twenty four hours before there was a rather large group standing outside the door of 221 B Baker Street as if they expected Sherlock to come prancing out wearing his deerstalker ready to retake his role as detective, but that wasn’t going to happen, at least not the way that they thought it would. Sherlock had no intentions from moving from his place on the sofa, he had placed the doorbell in the refrigerator, he had locked the street door and the door to the entry way, all comments had been disabled on his blog, his number had been removed from the contact area and he had even turned off his mobile to stop the onslaught of messages that had started to come in not long after John had calmed him down. In fact it was now John who was staring out the gap in the curtains to the people standing around the door.

John wasn’t pleased at the fact that people had actually gathered outside of the front door like they would a caged animal waiting for it to show its face. He didn’t like the fact that they were making his friend into some sort of attraction that they could swarm in and see because the papers disclosed that he might be alive. The doctor sighed as he closed the gap in the curtain and turned his head to glance at Sherlock, whose tall body was curled up on the couch, the blue dressing gown pulled tightly against his body, his hands grasping the fabric so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were white and the fabric seemed to be moments away from tearing into pieces.

Slowly John turned away from the window as he heard a brave soul knock on the door downstairs, but it wasn’t as if he was going to answer it so they could knock until they had bloody knuckles for all he cared. His attention was focused on Sherlock who seemed to grow tenser at the noise. The doctor moved forward, closing the flat door, making sure to double lock it. He did the same for the door in the kitchen even though he knew there was no way for them to get in, he wanted to put Sherlock at ease.

He made sure to make noises as he approached the brunette as to not startle him, gently he laid in hand on top of Sherlock’s, giving it a light squeeze.

“You need to loosen your grip, if not you’re going to have a hell of a time moving them later.” John stated as Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eye, saying nothing as he slowly released the death drip he had on his dressing gown.

“Make them go away.” Sherlock finally said as he shifted so he could look at John better. “Make them leave me alone, I don’t want them here, I don’t want them around.”

“There is nothing I can do about it Sherlock…”

“Then Call someone who can!” the taller man exclaimed as he sat up slightly. “I don’t get out much to begin with, but I don’t appreciate being a prisoner in my own home!” _I have been a prisoner twice already, I don’t want to be one again, not in the place where I am supposed to be safe, and I just want to be safe. Is that too much to ask for?_

John took a deep breath before nodding, his hand digging into his pocket pulling out his mobile, pressing a few numbers before holding his cell to his ear.

“Greg, I know you are busy but I need a favor…”

 

* * *

 

The squad room was still abuzz with activity the next morning, the room holding a low buzzing murmur as they discussed things amongst themselves, but Greg was just waiting for the hype to die down and for the select few that wouldn’t have an issue trying to stir it up again, those were the ones he would have to look out for. The last thing he wanted to hear was one of his officers shout how much Sherlock deserved whatever happened to him for whatever reason they supplied.

No one spoke to him, but he could feel Sally follow him with her eyes, The DI knew the sergeant was just waiting for the right time to ask him the questions that were on her mind, but until then, that was the least of his concerns, He had spent most of the night on the phone with Mycroft, both men trying to figure out when the photo could have been taken so they could narrow it down, but their discussion had come up with nothing. The Silver haired man sighed as he placed his things in his office before heading to the break room for some well needed coffee when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“Hello?”

“Greg I know you are busy but I need a favor…”

“John, well I can see what I can do, there are no guarantees.”

“I know you saw yesterday’s paper with that piece about Sherlock on the front.”

“Who in London hasn’t?”

“That is the problem, we have people standing outside waiting for him to go out….”

‘There is a crowd.”

“Yeah and they don’t appear to be going away, If you could send someone to clear them off for obstructing the flow of traffic, a fire hazard, trespassing, just anything. He wants them gone and I can’t blame him.”

“I’ll be down there in as soon as I can, clear them off and then we can discuss how we want to deal with keeping them away from the door.”

The officer sighed as he hung up his phone, running a hand over his face. quickly he poured coffee into a to go cup and headed out to the garage with the intent to clear off the walk way, he’d give out citations if need be, he knew Sherlock already felt like an outcast and he would be damned in the treated him like one.


	5. Please Consider

The media could be hounds, Greg knew that much, but as he pulled up to the front door of baker street, it was just that much more apparent. They all stood so close to the door as if they waiting for a small crack between the door and the jamb so they could rush in. It wasn’t a wonder why John had called. They were all poised with pens and note pads in their hands, the cameras hidden in the bags they carried over their shoulders as they tried to play it off as if they were just avid fans. Regardless if they were or not, it was his job to remove them from the front of the property, to ensure the safety of those inside, and to make sure that Sherlock’s wellbeing was looked after. No one gave him a second glance as he put the car in park and turned it off, stepping out onto to the side walk before pulling out his badge, holding it in his hand as he approached them. But it didn’t take much more than that to get them running. He didn’t doubt it they had orders to obtain information but not to rock the boat, as if it wasn’t rocked enough as it was. Regardless, they would be back, they always where. They wanted the story, to be the first ones to talk to Sherlock Holmes and how he managed to fool the public for as long as he did, but they didn’t necessarily want to end up on the front of the paper for being arrested for loitering.

Greg stood and watched to make sure that they had gone before he shoved his key into the door, turning the key and letting himself in. The Detective Inspector locked the door behind him before he made his way upstairs, his hands in his pockets as he went. John stood at the door holding it open for him.

“That was easier than I expected.” The doctor mumbled as he walked passed him

“They know what they are doing is wrong, they’ve been out there for ages I suppose, they want a story, to be the one who breaks it, but they don’t want the drama that comes with being arrested.” Greg stated as he looked from John to Sherlock

“So they have their orders then?”

“They always have their orders John, they don’t want one of their people getting arrested to overshadow the fact Sherlock’s breathing, but I’ll give Mycroft a call, maybe he can put something around the door, stop them from gathering.” The officer stated, “But maybe you two should consider getting out of London for awhile. Get away from the madness and allow Mycroft to deal with this.”

“No.” Sherlock muttered before John had a chance to voice his opinion. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

“Sherlock…”

“No, I am not going anywhere.”

“Sherlock..”

“No.”

“Sherlock leaving this mess doesn’t mean anything.” Greg rose his voice to be heard over the protests, Sherlock growing quiet at the other man’s raised voice, “Hell getting out of here may even do you some good. Because that isn’t going to stop, they aren’t going to leave you alone and when they can’t get anything out of you they’ll make it up.”

No one said anything, Sherlock diverting his eyes to look anywhere by to the older man.

“You don’t need their crap, you don’t have to deal with them or have to put up with them lurking around here, You need time to finish healing Sherlock and I don’t think London is the place to do it.”

“I am not going anywhere.” Sherlock stated as he looked at Greg then to John. _I am not going to let them affect me, they won’t affect me. I am fine, can’t you see that I am fine?_

“Look just think about it okay?” Greg asked as he looked from Sherlock to John. “Think about it, please, I just want you to be safe, I don’t want those media hounds to have at you again.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything and neither did John, but that didn’t matter, the silver haired man knew if Sherlock didn’t consider it, John would, John wanted what was best for Sherlock like the rest of them.

“Thanks, Greg.” John supplied after a few moments and he nodded slowly as he made his way to the door.

“Just really think about it, though, John. It may do him some good.”

 

* * *

 

John watched as Greg descended the stairs before closing the door and turning to look at his friend. It seemed to be a good suggestion really, leaving London for awhile, getting some space between Sherlock and this city and the media until Sherlock felt comfortable enough to be around so many people. But the problem was getting Sherlock to see that he needed to get away.

“Stop it”

“Stop what?”

“Thinking”

“Sherlock…”

“I am not going to let some stupid reporters drive me from my home. They’ll get tired and go on to something new, they will move on John.”

“This is big news to them, they will want to know and they will go through any means to get the story, Just like Kitty Riley.”

“Just stop, please. I am not leaving, not now so stop thinking about it, stop asking and leave me alone.” The Detective stated as he stood and walked passed John and into his room, shutting his door.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock flopped down on his bed, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of his duvet, He didn’t want to leave London, he didn’t want to give the people the idea that the media had driven him away, he didn’t want Moran’s people, if any were still alive, the satisfaction of knowing he had left London, they would think that he left because he was haunted by the thought of the sniper, not that they were wrong, but he didn’t want to prove them right.

The brunette wanted nothing more than to move on with his life, to get back to the way he used to be, but he knew deep down that wasn’t possible, he just wanted to be fine, he just wanted to go back to being Sherlock Holmes without all the fuss, but that was too much to ask for


	6. Nightmare

_His shoulders were hurting, straining under his weight and how much he was trying to pull away, but he just couldn’t as hands ran over his body, trailing down his sides before latching onto his hips with such force that they were bruising. Sherlock sobbed as warm breath brushed the back of his neck before someone sunk their teeth into his skin causing him to cry out. Tears streaming down his face as cold air brushed against his wet skin as Moran pulled away._

_“You would prefer if this was your friend wouldn’t you? Your precious John…”_

_Sherlock whimpered at the words as he tried to pull away but the chains wouldn’t let him. The grip on his hips tightening as Moran pulled him back._

_“Well you’ll never get that, no one is looking for you.” He hissed into the brunette’s ear, he knew what was coming next as he felt the sniper shift, a scream tearing through his throat as he was violently entered._

Sherlock bolted straight up, the scream dying in his throat as he gained his bearings, his chest was heaving and his body was coated in a sheet of cold sweat as he tried to calm himself. His eyes burning with unshed tears as he tried to tell himself that it didn’t happen that way.  

The detective threw his legs over the side of his bed and stood on shaking legs, his room was too small and too dark and he needed air. The door to his bedroom opened with a creak and the floor under his feet creaked slightly as he walked. The street lights filtered in through the sheer curtains he had on the windows in the sitting room casting an eerie glow across the room. Sherlock padded it way over to the window he usually stood, closing his eyes as he leaned against the cool glass, normally he would have stayed in his room, lay awake and stare at the ceiling before getting up and taking a quick shower, but this time was different, his nightmare was different and he didn’t like that.

He had no idea how long he had been standing in the darkened living room when he heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs. By the sound of the stairs and the gait of the person he assumed it was John. John who had been staying with him instead of going back to his own place at night because he wanted to make sure Sherlock was alright.

“Sherlock?” The doctor asked, his voice low but not thick with sleep as Sherlock had hoped, which meant he had woken the doctor with his nightmare and he had waited to come down stairs. Sherlock didn’t answer as he opened his eyes a fraction as he heard John come closer,

“Don’t.” He stated as John reached out for him. Usually he didn’t mind, usually he was fine with John, but not now, not with the feeling of warm breath still on his skin and the pain in his hips from the man he knew was dead.

John dropped his arm and slowly backed up, giving Sherlock his space, he knew Sherlock had figured out he had been woken with the sound of him screaming, but that didn’t matter to John, all that mattered to John was his friend’s well-being.

“You know it’s okay to cry.” John stated as he watched Sherlock from his chair, the detectives back was straight and stiff as he looked out the window. He wasn’t allowed to get any closer to the other man, the brunette had made that perfectly clear when he attempted an hour earlier, He knew the taller man was hurting, it was written all over his body and John couldn’t blame him, how could he? How could he blame Sherlock for being human?

“It’s not okay.” Sherlock muttered as he turned slightly and looked at john, his hands buried into the pockets of his sleep pants, clenched into fists as he tried to control his emotions, but John could tell he was so close to giving in, from the way his voice wavered to the way his eyes were rimmed red from the tears collecting in his eyes. It was hurting the doctor to see the taller man this way, holding back because he thought it wasn’t okay to cry because he had done it so much of it since this had begun.

"It is not okay." The detective repeated, more to himself than to John who had told it otherwise. It wasn't okay to cry was it? that was all he seemed to do, allow tears to stream down his face. Society had always claimed that a man showing anything resembling emotions was considered weak, but he wasn't was he? John didn't think so, Mycroft didn't think so, Greg didn't think so either...

John stood and made his way over to him just as slowly as before, only this time, Sherlock didn’t turn him away as he got close, instead the taller man allowed John to wrap his arms around him. And Sherlock leaned into him, his body still tense and solid but John could feel trembling in Sherock’s body as the tears began to fall. The tension in his body remained as John held him, the sun slowly rising over the horizon

“I-It was different.” Sherlock breathed as rested his head against John’s shoulder. “It was different and it was horrible, I want it to stop, I want him to stop haunting my dreams and leave me alone... why can’t he just leave me alone John?”

“He hurt you in an unimaginable way, Sherlock, it’s not something you forget.”

“I wish I could.” Sherlock’s hands curled into fists grasping the fabric of John’s dressing down “I wish I could delete it, and this new mess, delete the scars and the pain.”


	7. Mary

He had managed to shower and get himself dressed, hos body unnaturally achy and he was tired from lack of sleep, but Sherlock was determined to be a little more productive than laying on the couch allowing the nightmare from hours before to consume him. Instead he perched himself at the table, his Microscope set up and several dishes of bacteria that had been growing in the petri dishes that Mycroft had provided him were stacked up next to it. His goal was to stay away from the windows with John out doing the shopping, despite the fact that no reporters had come to camp out in front of his front door, no one really needed to see him anyway.

It was the first time in a while that he was alone, the flat was silent, deafening so and it just reminded him how alone he was when John wasn’t around, or anyone around for that fact. And he didn’t like it, it remind him of the silence that surrounded him in the cell that Moran held him in, it remind him of the cell that the Serbian’s kept him in while they had him. Sherlock turned and looked around, maybe he would play some classical music on his laptop, or maybe there was something on the telly he could listen to until John got back just to kill the silence.

The detective placed the slide on to the table, slowly standing, making a face at the pulling he felt on his joints and muscles, concluding that he must have thrashed around in his sleep before waking up. He padded over to the laptop, lifting the lid, going to open the playlist he had when there was a knock on the door.

The noise startled him, it was the last thing he was expecting, John, Mycroft, and Greg had keys so they had no reason to knock and no reporter would be brave enough to actually come and disturb him themselves, at least not after Kitty Reily. He stopped and stared at the door, hoping that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, he didn’t want anyone to be there, he didn’t really want to see anyone or have a stranger in his space. He paused and looked at the door, silently praying that there wouldn’t be a second knock, though when there was, he felt his stomach clench.

Maybe it was John, his hands full from the shopping and he needed help opening the door. God he wished Mrs, Hudson was still there, that would help this, help him, but she wasn’t. Slowly he stood, and made his way to the door, opening it as much as the chain he had on it would allow to find  woman, shorter than he was, about John’s height with platinum blond hair that was rather short.

“I am looking for John, there was a note in his flat that he would be here.” She said with a smile, it seemed to be warm and inviting but it didn’t quiet meet her eyes, not that it mattered anyway. Why did she want John? Was this another one of his girlfriends?

“John went shopping, he should be back in a hour, depending if the chip and pen machine works for him.” Sherlock stated. “May I ask who you are?”

“I’m Mary, John’s fiancée.” She beamed at him, and something inside him went cold. John had a fiancée? He was engaged?

“Oh” He mumbled the coldness slowly growing inside him. Of course, it had to be too good to be true, he having John to himself, he having anyone to himself for that matter. Like Moran had said everyone had moved on with their lives. They didn’t need him, he was just a hindrance to their new lives.

Sherlock was weary of letting her in, but she knew John so she was somewhat safe. “Give me a moment.” He stated as he closed the door to remove the chain and opened it for the woman John had promised to marry.

“Have a seat on the couch, if you’d like to wait for him.” Sherlock added as he moved back to the kitchen. Though he didn’t pay attention to his bacteria anymore, he was more focused on keeping an eye on the stranger he had let in.

“So your John’s friend.” Mary said, she was trying to be friendly, but Sherlock didn’t want to be, he wanted to be left to his thoughts and the fact he had been left out of the loop. Everyone else had to know. Mycroft knew everything and Greg was smart, but he probably heard from someone at a the pub.

“Yes.” He said tersely, a friend, a ghost, a bother maybe. Now he wished he had never opened the door, he should have waited, she would have gone away, then he wouldn't have to deal with this, instead he could be watching bacteria go through asexual reproduction, maybe he could even be laying down resting, but instead he sat there tense and alert wondering when John would be back so he could take his lady and leave. 

“Has he been staying over frequently?” The answer to that question was yes of course, but had Sherlock known he would have sent John home, regardless if it made him feel vulnerable, He didn’t want to come between anyone, especially not with someone like Mary, who had obviously won the heart of John while he was away.

“A few nights a week, but he should be going home today and spending the rest of the week there.”

“That’s kind of good then, I’ve missed him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I have not updated this story like I did with the previous one, this one is just a bit harder and I am trying to figure out where i want it to go with out botching it up too badly


	8. Missing you

John’s brow furrowed as he rounded the first set of stairs, the final steps to the flat were illuminated and as he made his way up he realized that the door to the flat was open. It was strange, since Sherlock had insisted that John close the door on his way out to the store. It wasn’t an unreasonable request given the events of the last few weeks, months actually, but John had never once thought that Sherlock would have opened the door unless there was someone he knew there, or someone that had been sent by Greg or Mycroft.

Half way up the final flight, he paused as his eyes fell on to Mary, his heart stopped as he tried to process the fact that she was sitting on the couch in 221. What was she doing there? She wasn’t supposed to be there, he didn’t even remember telling her where he was and where he had been, and that was for Sherlock’s sake. He knew his friend was weary of strangers more no then he had been before, and that’s what Mary was to the detective. And not to mention he hadn’t even told Sherlock about his engagement yet, there had been more important things on his mind then the fact he was supposed to get married. And her showing up like this was not how he wanted to spring it on the man.

“Mary?” John asked as he finally cleared the last few steps, the woman jumping up to her feet as to greet him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as his head turned slightly as he heard the chair scrap across the kitchen floor as Sherlock moved from his place. A few moments seconds later, the sound of the detective’s bedroom door closing met his ears, causing the doctor so sigh.

The doctor entered the flat, walking past his fiancée and into the kitchen to put down the bags in his hands.

“I missed you and I wanted to see you.” Mary stated once he had placed the bags on the counter and moved to put away the purchases.

* * *

 

As Soon as he heard John’s voice, Sherlock felt his muscles relax as the tension left his body and for a moment that was alright, until he realized that he didn’t want actually see the other man. His insides felt cold and his chest seemed to be filled with shards of glass as he tried to breathe. Slowly he stood, the legs of the chair scrapping against the lino as his body pushed it back and away from the table, before he made a quick retreat into his room, closing the door behind him.

His room was dark and slightly more inviting than the awkward feeling that would have been ebbing away at him if he was out there with the two of them, thought he doubted it could have been any worse than the awkward feeling Mary alone had given him.

Sighing, the brunette flopped ungracefully onto his bed, closing his eyes as he laid face down on the covers listening to the sound of cupboards being opened and closed and the clinking of glass as the jars were placed on the counter as they were taken out of the bags. He shifted slightly and sighed, it seemed like a cowardly move, hiding from John, but in all honesty he didn’t want to see him leave and leave him alone with his demons

 

* * *

 

John glanced towards the hall that lead to Sherlock’s bedroom every so often hoping to see the detective emerge from his room, even though he knew he wouldn’t. Mary lingered around the kitchen door waiting for him rather impatiently if he thought about it, but he had little to no desire to actually go with her.

“How did you find me?” He asked as he looked back at her, after placing the milk in the fridge.

“You left me a note.”

The blonde man frowned, had he? He didn’t remember leaving anything that said where he could have been found, not to mention it didn’t sound like something he would do, not with everything that as going on at the moment with the media frenzy and the idea was to keep Sherlock as safe as possible. Something wasn’t right there, but he just nodded and finished putting things were they belonged in silence.

After the bags were folded and stored away, then did John venture down the short hall, knocking on the door.

“Sherlock?”

“Go away.”

“Sherlock, please?”

“Go away, go spend time with your fiancée, don’t let me keep you from having a life.” John’s heart dropped, what the hell had she said to make him think like that? If it wasn’t for Sherlock he wouldn’t really have a life. But he didn’t push it, instead he turned on his heel slowly and walked towards the sitting room, motioning for Mary to step out before following her, closing and locking the door as he went.


	9. laying awake

The night was quiet as John laid awakes staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, the arm across his chest serving as a reminder that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, with Sherlock at Baker Street. He had hoped and prayed that Mary wouldn’t linger and that she would eventually saunter off back to her own place allowing him to sneak back off to the second bedroom he had been staying at for more than a few days a week since he had looked Sherlock over. He wanted an actual chance to talk to Sherlock, fill him in, talk things over and make sure that they were on the same page before things got too out of hand and Sherlock reverted back to his old coping habits. However Mary did not give him that chance, she had made it rather clear she wasn’t going to leave him alone. She had stayed until it was too late for her to wandering around and it wasn’t necessarily polite to tell one’s future wife to scram so he could watch over his best friend.

Though now, he wished he had been slightly rude and told her to go, to leave him be, if he had then maybe he could be sleeping, instead of dealing with the thoughts running through his head at a thousand miles an hour. Was Sherlock sleeping? Was he sitting up awake? Was he calling for John because the Moran in his mind was viciously attacking him once more? Or was he just lying awake so he didn’t have to deal with anything of the sort? Had those media hounds staked their claim to his doorstep once more, standing out there like wolves waiting for their prey? Or had one been brave enough to find out the street door was unlocked and managed to make their way inside and were hounding him with personal and private questions he didn’t know how to answer?

The doctor sighed and closed his eyes before turning his head so he could stare at his mobile, longing to reach out and grab it and send a text or twenty to Sherlock to make sure he was alright, thought any movement would stir the woman who was curled up rather close to him, and the last thing he wanted was to argue with her over the fact he was awake and corresponding with the person that saved him first. So instead John elected to lay awake and stare off into the darkness, watching the shadows dance across the walls as he waited for the alarm to go off so he could get up and go to work.

* * *

 

He didn’t feel like sleeping, or rather he didn’t think he could sleep at this point. He had been up for nearly twenty four hours now, and Sherlock could feel it in his body, his joints ached, his muscles gave a little throb and his eye lids felt heavy, but he refused to give into the temptation of resting. It was a safe venture to say that he didn’t feel that comfortable or that safe being there alone, maybe if it was a few days earlier and every thought he was dead, then he wouldn’t be so bothered by the empty, cold feeling in the flat, however, it wasn’t that way.

John’s fiancé had showed up and voiced how much she had missed him, as if he had been gone for years, thought that wasn’t true. He honestly didn’t think it had been that long since John had seen her. Thought she did give him the impression she didn’t appreciate the fact he had been there, and she had certainly gave the impression that she felt Sherlock was trying to steal him away from her, and as much as he wanted John, that wasn’t the Case. The army doctor could do so much better than him, and it appeared that he honestly had.

Sherlock shifted in his Chair, bringing his knees to his chest so he could rest his head upon them as he stared at the fridge. The sinking feeling in his chest returning as he tightened his grip around his legs as he wished things were different, he wished John was there was there even though he had sent him away, he wished he had never jumped off the top of Bart’s to fake his death, he honestly wished he had been more careful when he had returned, because if he had been then maybe Moran wouldn’t have been able to take him. Maybe if none of that had happened things would be normal, John would be there, he would still have to deal with Moriarty but at least then he would feel like himself and he wouldn’t be afraid of sleeping or what was hiding in his dreams.

The brunttee worried his lip between his teeth as the sun began to rise, his hand reaching out for the mobile on the table near his chair. He wasn’t able to say up as long as he use, he use to go days without sleep, but not now. He attributed it to the healing that his body was still doing, repairing the muscles, bones, and torn tissue in his body. But he didn’t want to sleep without someone there, which was understandable right? That’s why they could ward off the reporters if they showed and calm him down if his nightmares took another unexpected turn.

His fingers danced across the screen before putting the mobile to his ear, listening to the phone ring before there was a groggy answer at the other end.

“I’m sorry… but I need you to come over, please, Mycroft?”


	10. Needing You

Being the British government meant that Mycroft was use to his phone going off at all hours, so waking up to the sound of his mobile going off at three in the morning was somewhat normal. The reached over to his night stand, hand patting for his phone before being able to grab it. Still half asleep, he didn't look to see who it was before he answered.

"Mycroft Holmes." he answered half asleep as he tied to wake himself up, though that didn’t take long as a voice he didn’t expect to hear come through the line.

“I’m sorry… but I need you to come over, please, Mycroft?"  Sherlock's voice was low and hints of fear in his voice. The older Holmes knew something had to be serious if his younger brother was calling. He wasn't one to talk on the line, since he preferred to text, he had learned that early on.

He was awake now, quickly throwing the blankets to the side as he got out of bed, phone pressed between his shoulders and head, talking as he moved to get dressed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he pulled a suit out of his wardrobe, before walking towards his bed and placing it down as he waited for his brother to reply. He didn’t care if it was early, not when there was something not right with his little brother.

“John’s not here.” Sherlock murmured into the phone. Mycroft could hear the sadness in Sherlock’s voice, the defeat. “John’s not here.”

“I’ll be there soon, Alright Sherlock? I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Mycroft said and he could hear Sherlock hum before the line went dead. The government official dressed quickly, grabbed his coat and a few files before heading down stairs. It was too early for any of his staff to be up, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t drive himself to his brother’s flat.

The roads were nearly empty at this hour, the streets of London silent, his hands grasping on the steering wheel as he drove, his mind focusing on Sherlock and why he had called and more or less why John wasn’t there with him. The doctor had told him he would be more than happy to watch over Sherlock as he had Greg transitioned back to working their full schedules, but the older man should have known sooner or later something would have come up and the doctor would have done, but he could have at least called.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock sat on his chair, his phone in his hand as he eyes stared at the door, as he counted the minutes away. He felt horrible for having to wake up his brother, pulling him from his bed to come and deal with him because he couldn’t put himself at ease. The detective would have hated himself for it if he wasn’t so tired and if Mycroft had rejected his plea.

It was just little over fourteen minutes when Sherlock heard the street door open before closing and locking, his body tensing as the stairs creaked under the weight of the person walking. The door to his flat was unlocked and opened quietly as Mycroft stepped in, dressed as he would for a usual day at the office. The older man didn’t say anything as he pulled off his coat and hung it behind the door, next to Sherlock’s after he closed it. Instead he placed the things he had carried up with him on the coffee table before turning his attention to his brother.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock said softly, his voice carrying slightly in the quiet room

“why are you apologizing?”

“Because I bothered you.”

“Sherlock, you aren’t bothering me.” Mycroft stated as he approached his brother, the sibling rivalry that they had going had been moved to the back burner, so to speak. Sherlock’s well-being was more important than who was right and who upset mummy less when they were growing up. “It is my job to be there for you.”

The younger man nodded, reminding the government official of when he was younger, Sherlock sitting up in his room after school hiding from their parents because the shirt he had was torn or there were marks on his arms from where the other kids had grabbed him and shoved him down for being different. Mycroft supposed it was sort of like those situations where he would come and sit with him, Sherlock gradually moving closer until he was leaning against his big brother asking if the fact he was being bullied was his fault or not.

“When was the last time you slept?” Mycroft asked as he slipped off his shoes near the chair John usually sat.

“24 hours ago.”

“Why so long?”

It really wasn’t long, Sherlock had gone longer without sleep, but not in this state.

“The nightmares were getting worse.”

The government official nodded, that explained it. Sherlock’s call was a request for company, a request to have someone watch over him as he slept, to ward off the monster that was still attacking him in his dreams.

“Come on then.”

Sherlock uncurled himself from the chair and shuffled passed his brother as he removed his suit jacket and flung it on the back of the pink arm chair before following. They were quiet as they entered the bedroom, Mycroft moving to sit on the side of the bed that remained empty, his body perched on top of the covers as he pulled the pillow from against the headboard before placing it on his lap as Sherlock got under the blankets.

Mycroft’s back was against the headboard as Sherlock laid his head on the pillow, his eyes closing as fingers carded through his hair just like when he was a kid, the only difference was there was no Redbeard laying up on the bed with them and Mycroft wasn’t reading him a book about pirates to make him feel better because someone had shoved him down. Instead there was no Redbeard, no book about pirates, and the reason Mycroft was there because he was afraid to sleep, he was afraid of closing his eyes because in his head Moran was very much alive.


	11. Another one

It was well after sunrise before Mycroft gently slid the pillow and Sherlock’s head from his lap, pausing for a moment to make sure he had not wakened him before slowly standing. His legs were stiff and sore as he began to move, but he had expected that much for being stuck in that position for so long, but as long as that helped his brother sleep, then that was all that mattered. He stretched his limbs slightly as he made his way into the sitting room, digging through his coat pocket for his mobile before calling Anthea. It was well past the time he should have been at his office, but right now Sherlock just came first. He simply stated that he was not going to be in and that he would be doing his work from home, to which she just agreed before hanging up. Though she did sound mildly surprised at the fact he wouldn’t be in, it wasn’t like him to take a day off, and even when he was younger and Sherlock went missing, vanishing into the alleyways of London looking for a fix.

However this was different, this was about Sherlock and how well he was healing and not just physically. Sherlock needed support, he needed someone there and not to mention he needed to keep an eye on his brother, especially now. There were people after him, the media mostly, each of them trying to break the story first, each one trying to get the exclusive that would drive their profits through the roof. Mycroft sighed as he ran his hand over his face as he moved to the coffee stable before plucking one of the files off of the scoffed surface. It was relatively thick and impressive granting that it went back to the time Sherlock was still in Uni. It had been found in a box his people were going through from the warehouse, hidden away as if it wasn’t supposed to be found, not even by Moran. That aspect alone was unsettling, but the fact that there was someone else out there, someone that was a part of Moriarty’s web still roaming around London was concerning.  There was an individual, a dangerous one at that, who worked for these people that was still roaming free with all the tools they and the resources the needed to kill his brother. All the Identifying information had been removed, names blacked out, pictures removed, meaning there was nothing to go on other than the descriptions of the missions.

Mycroft had been scanning through it, trying to decipher who this person was, because the last thing his brother needed was to deal with this. Sherlock had enough deal with, he was still healing from his rape and torture, battling monsters in his dreams, fighting to keep some aspect of his life private regardless of the people trying to profit from him. This was the least Mycroft could do, he couldn’t protect him from being taken in Serbia and he had failed to keep him safe once they were back in London, so he could at least make sure the people who had a connection with the consulting criminal were dealt with properly.

The government official looked up as he heard the mattress springs squeaking, signaling that Sherlock was awake. With a flick of his hand, the file was closed and he deposited it back on the table as he rose to his feet before making his way to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock didn’t remember falling asleep, the last thing he remembered was laying his head on the pillow Mycroft had placed on his lap and the feeling of his brother running his fingers through his curls. It had been years since anything of that sort had happened, well at least since Redbeard had died. Usually he didn’t seek out his brother for any sort of reassurance and affection though things were different now, he was willing to admit that he needed someone to help him cope and at the moment it wasn’t John. He wasn’t even certain if John would have showed up if he had called him anyway.

The brunette gradually pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes scanning around the bedroom as he heard noise from the kitchen, his body tensing before he realized that it must have been Mycroft, unless there was someone who had broken into his flat to make tea and at this hour John would have been at the clinic. The floor was cold under his feet as he stood, padding his way into the kitchen, pausing as he saw Mycroft looking through the cupboards.

“Tea is on the top shelf in the cupboard over the sink.” He said as Mycroft turned around to look him over. Sherlock knew he wasn’t much of a sight, his curly hair a mess, his clothes wrinkled from sleep.

“Mycroft?”

“Yes Sherlock?”

There was a pause as Mycroft dug out some of the better looking mugs he had as Sherlock thought of a way to word his question.

“Why can’t I delete it?” he asked finally, god he wanted to know why he couldn’t get rid of the memory as much as he tried.

“Delete what?”

“Moran…raping me…” Sherlock answered, his throat closing slightly as he moved slightly. It was the first time he had said the words and it didn’t sit well in his chest.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft began as he set the cups down on the counter before turning to look at his little brother. “There are somethings that you can’t delete and that is one of them. It is going to take some time.”

Sherlock nodded slowly his arms wrapping around himself as bubbles began to form on the bottom of the kettle.

Mycroft pushed himself away from the counter, closing the distance between himself and his little brother, careful as not to crowd him. His hand coming up to cup the side of his brother’s face. Sherlock looked so much younger than he actually was in that instance.

“Just because it is going to take time, Sherlock, doesn’t mean that you have to go through it alone.”


	12. Outing

The flat was quiet, the silence only broken by the sound of Mycroft flipping through the paperwork he had brought with him when he came over. He had managed to shower and to dress and he felt the best he had since he had come sprinting back to the flat as if the Hound of Baskerville had come after him, though as much as he didn’t mind being hidden in his flat away from the rest of the population, there was only so much he could take before he got cabin fever or one of his moods struck, and he wasn’t that keen on going back on cocaine, not since that was the reason Moran had been able to take him from the drug den in the first place. His hands clenched behind his back as he rested his head against the window he usually stood in front of, his eyes scanning the busy street below. His stoop was free of loitering reporters and no one seemed to be able to see him. Which may have been for the best, honestly.

Quietly he pushed himself up and away from the cool surface to turn and look at his brother, who was absorbed in his work, flipping through the pages in in the file slowly as his eyes danced over the page as he most likely tried to piece together the pieces of the puzzle he had to deal with. Sherlock shifted his weight before clearing his throat to get Mycroft’s attention. The older man looked up from the papers on his lap and shifted in his seat. It wasn’t the usual Mycroftian pose, but close to it.

“I realized this morning that there are some things that I am running low on.” Sherlock stated, his hands clasped in front of his body now as he spoke, His eyes not really meeting his brothers. “And some shopping is most likely in order.” Sherlock watched as Mycroft’s eyebrows rose to meet his hairline for a moment as he took in the suggestion, the possible suggestion behind it. Sherlock had been one for vague suggestions, cryptic messages, especially when he was feeling better, more towards himself. Mycroft regarded him for a moment and looked as if he was going to disagree with the suggestion before he sighed, closing the files on his lap before tossing them onto the coffee table.

Mycroft took in Sherlock’s appearance as he leaned back into the chair, he looked well rested, better than he had when he emerged from the bedroom a few hours before, he wasn’t openly asking but he supposed the longing stare out the window and the fact he said shopping should would be enough of a hint that Sherlock had decided it was time to venture out once more. It didn’t seem like a good idea honestly, not with everyone and their questions, wanting their chance at him, but if Sherlock was willing to make this move on his own, he really couldn’t say no.

“I suppose a stretch of the legs would be a good idea.” He said after a moment, his eyes focused on his brother’s face, noting the slight upturning of Sherlock’s lips at his words. “Not to mention a break from this would do me good as well.” He added as he motioned to the files resting on his lap.

“I’ll go get my coat.” Sherlock stated, walking to his bedroom as Mycroft stood, tossing the files back onto the coffee table before gathering the clothing he had discarded on his way in. By the time Mycroft is fully dressed again, Sherlock is barely emerging from his bedroom, but he doesn’t say anything, though by the look on his face, it is apparent something is bothering him, but the older doesn’t ask and the younger doesn’t tell.

The government official makes his way down the stairs first, the detective following behind by a step, both are quiet and Mycroft can feel the tension slowly fill the air as the get closer to the street door, but he doesn’t voice anything, leaving his up to his brother because this is his healing process and he won’t intervene with what Sherlock thinks he can take.

The light is bright as they step out into the London air, the sound of life fills Sherlock’s ears and he feels off from the start, but he doesn’t say anything as Mycroft shuts the door behind them. His heart is pounding in his chest as he takes a minute or two to get use to the loud sound of the city after being in his quiet flat for the last few days. Mycroft is at his side and he nods minutely as they take off down the street. Usually Sherlock held his head high as he walked the streets of London, making deductions of the people passing by, figuring out their motives, but not now. Now he doesn’t want to be noticed. Now being noticed will get him the attention he doesn’t want and the questions he doesn’t want to answer, not yet, not ever really if he has his way.

Sherlock jumps slightly at the hand that grabs him gently just above his elbow and he turns to see Mycroft giving him a questionable look before realizing he had spaced out and was about to step off the curb into traffic.

“You Alright?”

“Yeah, just thinking?”

“About?”

“How noticeable I am.”

Mycroft pauses a moment before nodding taking a step closer to Sherlock, his hand still on his brother’s arm.

“We can head back to the flat and I can have one of my men get your purchases for you if you wish.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “I haven’t been out of the flat properly in what seems like ages.” He said his hands flexing as he keeps his head down, if they stay there for much longer they will draw the unwanted attention he is trying to avoid and despite the fact he is feeling okay, he doesn’t want that. “The last time I was properly out of the flat was when I was taken.”

There is a squeeze on his arm before Mycroft gently tugged on his arm and they are walking again. They are further than he had gotten with John on the day he saw his name in the papers and it is a relief that they got this far. Mycroft is leading the way, the grip on his arm loosened and slipped down until he has a grasp on Sherlock’s hand and if he notices he certainly doesn’t say anything.

The shop they slip into is quiet and empty and Sherlock sighs with relief at the fact he had yet to be noticed, but that may be in thanks to the fact Mycroft help him hidden behind him for most of the walk.

“Get what you need, brother dear.” Mycroft said as he released his brother’s hand, the detective nodding as he headed down the right aisle to get shampoo and body wash, preferably something that smells different to the ones he has been using.

Sherlock scanned the aisle occasionally looking up, scanning for anyone near him that might notice him or approach him, and when no one did, he counted the stars.

Mycroft stood towards the front, looking up and down the aisles for anything that may have appealed to him, though the answer to that was no. He looked up every now and again to look for his little brother before moving farther down. His eyes always finding their way to the door to see if anyone that might set Sherlock off was entering. He was doing well, even with the fact he had spaced a bit, and Mycroft had to admit he was proud at the fact Sherlock had ventured out. Thought there was always time for something to do wrong and he kept that in mind as Sherlock made his way from the back.

The cashier didn’t say anything to them as they bought what they had come out for, well rather Mycroft paid for it as Sherlock stood a bit behind him as not to be noticed.

There were plenty of people on the street, but no one said much or anything to them as they made their way back to the flat, Sherlock’s hand in his brother’s as he tried to keep his head down. They were nearly home when someone knocked his shoulder and Sherlock looked up. His heart stopping as he got a quick glance of the man that had hit his shoulder. The grip on Mycroft’s hand tightened as he felt the bile begin to rise in his throat.

“Sherlock?”

_It couldn’t be possible,_ he told himself as the man looked at him once before going on his way.

“Sherlock?”

The detective turned his attention to Mycroft, worry etched onto his brother’s face before the realization washed over his features. The government official managed to free his hand from the death grip that was on his hand and, like before, grasped Sherlock above the elbow gently, turning so his brother could see him.

“It’s alright.” He reassured as Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded but Mycroft could see the panic begin to set in. He looked over his shoulder, they were so close to 221, and it was a clear shot, no one was coming. “Let’s get you home huh?” He asked before turning, gently pulling on Sherlock’s arm, digging the key out of his pocket as he went.

Sherlock was inside and half way up the stairs before Mycroft had closed and locked the door behind him, he was trying to breath, taking deep breaths in and out slowly as he peeled off his coat as he stepped inside his flat, sinking into his chair, resting his head in his hands as he breathed, he didn’t pay attention as Mycroft entered, he didn’t look up as Mycroft knelled in front of him.

“I’m Sorry.” He whispered from behind his palms

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I freaked out, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Sherlock, things like that are going to happen, you saw someone that reminded you of him, so you are going to react accordingly. There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“I hate it.”

“I know.”


	13. He has your face

John sighed as he hit the end call button on his phone once more, he had been calling Sherlock on and off since he had gotten to work, but there was only so many times he could hear _You have reached Sherlock Holmes, leave a message, apparently I am busy, don’t be boring_ before concern grew. He looked at the clock, he and a few more hours to go and instead of going back to his own flat, where Mary was most likely waiting, he would head to Baker Street, check on Sherlock and find out why he wasn’t answering his phone. The doctor sighed and closed his eyes as he slumped back into his chair as the receptionist paged him for another patient. He wanted to tell her to send them to the other physician because he was going to leave early because he wasn’t feeling well, but he couldn’t exactly do that. He needed the money and they were swamped as it was.

“Send them in.”

 

* * *

 

 It took some time to get Sherlock calm and relaxed enough that he removed his hands from his face to look at Mycroft.

“He looked like him.” Sherlock breathed “He looked like him… and I know it can’t be him because he’s dead…he’s dead My. I know he is because you killed him.” The detective’s voice was strained as he spoke, as if he wanted to cry. The government official leaned forward slightly, his hands coming up to grasp his brother’s face gently.

“He is very much dead, he hurt you enough and I would have been damned if he did anything else.” Mycroft stated “In fact I will be damned if anyone else hurts you in the manner he has.”

Sherlock nodded and he could feel the tension he didn’t realize he was holding in his shoulders leave. Was he worried someone else was going to hurt him? That was always a possibility, but No one was really going to hurt him if Mycroft was around, he knew that much.

Mycroft offered him a small smile before standing, the hands on his face falling away as he turned to make his way into the kitchen to turn on the kettle. Sherlock looked down at his hands before looking up at the man in his kitchen, it was almost like when Sherlock was in Uni and had just begun to use, Mycroft making tea to get his nerves to calm slightly before they begun any discussion on why he had chosen cocaine over studying.

Sherlock doesn’t say anything for a while as he looks ahead, his hands are shaking slightly but not as badly and his chest doesn’t feel as tight though there is something he wants to say and it’s bubbling right under the surface. Mycroft needs to know why Sherlock called him instead of trying to get a hold of John even if the doctor has been the one to look after him since he moved back into his flat.

“He said no one was looking for me.” Sherlock said causing his brother to pause and look up from what he was doing at the counter. He couldn’t look at him though, he didn’t want to see the look on Mycroft’s face for this. “He said no one was looking for me, that he had made sure of it... I did not expect to be saved. I don’t think he did either.”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft spoke but the younger man just shook his head

“I believed him.” He continued still not looking up. “I believed what he said because how could anyone look for me? I ruined people’s lives, I made them hate me, I gave them more than their fair share of worry so why should anyone look for me when they got the peace they deserved.”

The kettle and tea had been abandoned and now Mycroft as back in the sitting room, this time across from him in the pink arm chair. He was leaned forward slightly, listening. As if he knew that this needed to be said. _You don’t need to do this alone_

“But he was proven wrong, you and Greg were looking for me.” Now Sherlock looked up at the man before him, his hands clenched on his lap, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “You didn’t have to, but you did. Just like I didn’t have to call you last night, but I did. I feel safe with you My… and at least with you I know I am not completely standing in the way of your life.”

“Sherlock why on earth would you think that you are standing in the way of anyone’s life?” Mycroft asked

“That’s what John’s Fiancée said. That is why I didn’t call him to come back, he can’t put things on hold because of me. Had he said anything I would have made sure to stop being such a bother, Greg could have stayed instead. I don’t think he would mind it.”

Mycroft sighed as he ran his hands over his face. “Did you talk to John about this?”

“No, I just told him to leave instead. It was easier than finding out later on I was just a bother to him.”

The creaking of the steps grabbed Sherlock’s attention the dark haired man turned his attention to the door as his brother did the same, he knew the steps and the gait of the person well enough and his heart stopped. How much had John heard?

* * *

 

John had been happy he had gotten out of the clinic early, it meant no more patents and a lot more of checking on Sherlock. It didn’t take him long to pack up his things and head out to the street and grab a cab. The ride of which was too slow and too long for his liking as his heart pounded against his chest. He should have gone back to the flat regardless of Mary, He could have made something up, something believable even if his lying skills were crap. That would be something he would remember next time, if there was one however.

The driver didn’t ask any questions about the address when he gave it to him, nor did he ask anything when he pulled up to the flat and John paid his fair and stepped out. He had no idea what to expect when he entered the flat, he just hoped that it wasn’t anything horrible. Voices made their way down the stairs as John entered, closing the street door behind him, thought he had no idea who else could be there with Sherlock. Quietly he made his way up the stairs, pausing as the other person spoke.

“Did you talk to John about this?” It was Mycroft. John stopped and waited for the reply, wanting to hear this before making himself known.

“No, I just told him to leave instead. It was easier than finding out later on I was just a bother to him.”

Oh. He was the topic of discussion. Did Sherlock really think that he was a bother to him?

John made his way up the stairs, making the usual noise as he went, but he knew that Sherlock could tell from what step he had been on he had been listening. He wasn’t going to be angry about this thought, there had to be a good reason Sherlock thought he was a bother, and wanted to hear it.


	14. Faults with the fiance

Sherlock can’t look at John as he enters the sitting room, instead he diverts his eyes, turns his head because right now it is easier to hide from this than it is to address it. But he know he has to, because nothing in his life is truly personal, not anymore, not really.

“Who told you were a bother to me?” The doctor asks but he doesn’t reply, how can he? Instead he leaned forward slightly and stared down at the patch of carpet between his feet.

_“Have a seat on the couch, if you’d like to wait for him.” Sherlock added as he moved back to the kitchen. Though he didn’t pay attention to his bacteria anymore, he was more focused on keeping an eye on the stranger he had let in._

_“So your John’s friend.” Mary said, she was trying to be friendly, but Sherlock didn’t want to be, he wanted to be left to his thoughts and the fact he had been left out of the loop. Everyone else had to know. Mycroft knew everything and Greg was smart, but he probably heard from someone at the pub._

_“Yes.” He said tersely, a friend, a ghost, a bother maybe. Now he wished he had never opened the door, he should have waited, she would have gone away, then he wouldn't have to deal with this, instead he could be watching bacteria go through asexual reproduction, maybe he could even be laying down resting, but instead he sat there tense and alert wondering when John would be back so he could take his lady and leave._

_“Has he been staying over frequently?” The answer to that question was yes of course, but had Sherlock known he would have sent John home, regardless if it made him feel vulnerable, He didn’t want to come between anyone, especially not with someone like Mary, who had obviously won the heart of John while he was away._

_“A few nights a week, but he should be going home today and spending the rest of the week there.”_

_“That’s kind of good then, I’ve missed him.”_

_He looked up at her direction to see her smiling at him, it didn’t quiet meet her eyes but he didn’t particularly care as long as she stayed where she was and didn’t invade his space. They sat in silence for a while and it was alright with him, the silence was calming, especially after the nightmare, and then in a moment the silence was broken._

_“He was much happier when you were away.” The words came out of nowhere, catching him off guard, his hand slipping on the dial of the microscope as he looked up at her, something fracturing in his chest. “Now you are just standing in the way of his life.” His chest tightened and he found it hard to breath.  Now he couldn’t even look in her direction and as much as he wanted to flee to his room, he couldn’t. His body was stiff and his limbs felt as if they were made of lead. Her words echoing in his head_

“Sherlock?” The detective’s head snapped up looking from Mycroft to where John had stepped closer while he had retreated inside his own head. They were both looking at him, different looks on their faces for different reasons. Mycroft’s was one of concern, it wasn’t really like him to vanish inside his head like this, and John looked livid and conflicted. More likely at the person who had told him he as a bother than the fact he had said anything.

“Who told you that you were a bother to me?” John asked again and Sherlock shook his head before he stood, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said after a moment as he turned to head towards the window, he didn’t like this, being put on the spot. It would have been better if John hadn’t been standing on the landing to hear part of their conversation.

“Of course it matters! Sherlock this isn’t a game, none of this is a game!” John exclaimed and Sherlock shied away slightly, turning more into the window. His eyes scanning the mass of people for no one in particular.

“Sherlock this isn’t a game, not when it stands in the way of your wellbeing.” John stated, his voice rising slightly, and Sherlock turned to look from John to his brother before looking back out the window.

Mycroft huffed, he was getting annoyed, it really wasn’t that hard to say it was it? He could do it, he had always been the one to tell people things that hurt them to shove them away.

“It was your fiancée.” Mycroft spoke and Sherlock felt his spine go rigid before deflating slightly. He could always leave most of the confessing to Mycroft, it was what he did when he was younger, it was how his parents knew about his drug habit when he was a University Student. 

“What?” John asked disbelief colored his voice, that wasn’t much of a surprise really, why would John believe something like that? Why would anyone believe him anyway?

John shifted his weight as he looked from Sherlock’s back to Mycroft, the anger had subsided to confusion, why had Mary said such a thing? She didn’t know Sherlock, nor their dynamic. She didn’t know what he had been through or the fact he needed someone to be with him to remind him that the demons that haunted his dreams were gone. Dead.

“She said that to you?” He asked Sherlock, the man turning to face them again, he looked tired, worn out the more John looked at him, the way he did after a nightmare.

“She did.” He nodded once, his voice coming out softly as he spoke, as if it was catching up with him now, all of this. “When she came over before you came back, she voiced that I was keeping you from your life and making you rather miserable, and that is the last thing that I want for you.”

That explained why he had sent him off and it sent a pang through his chest, that Sherlock would rather sacrifice his emotional wellbeing to make sure John was happy. But John’s concern was Sherlock and making sure he was alright.

“But that isn’t right Sherlock you should know that… Why don’t I stay? I am sure Mycroft has other things he has to attend to, elections and such.”

“Perhaps before you offer to relieve me of my place here, you should go work things out with your fiancée, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft voiced “There is no need to make this any more difficult than it already is, and I can assure you there are other people that can come and look after Sherlock while you handle your relationship.”

John looked up at Sherlock for any kind of defense but it was obvious he had silently handed his matter off to Mycroft as he leaned against the wall by the fireplace. His arms had wrapped themselves around his torso and his looked down at the ground, his eyes half closed as he tried to fight off the exhaustion that was slowly creeping into his body. So instead he just nodded and took his leave as Mycroft got up from his chair, and as John made his way down the stairs he could hear the older Holmes say.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed before you fall hmm? That is the last thing you need today.”


	15. A Step forward

Greg sighed as he pulled up to the curb of 221, his eyes scanning the door as he waited for someone to emerge. He had been half asleep the night before when his mobile had gone off, starling him into alertness. The Detective inspector had been surprised to see Mycroft’s name lighting up his screen and he answered it without a second thought.

_“Everything alright?” He asked as he sat up in bed, leaning against the headboard as he ran a hand over his face._

_“Given everything that has happened over the last few days? Things are marginally good, I suppose.” Mycroft stated, his voice soft as if he was trying not to wake someone. “Thought I am not calling to give you a progress report, Gregory, I would like to ask a favor of you.”_

_“What kind of favor? Are they still harassing him? Standing around his doorstep?” Greg asked, “Do I need to have so barricades put up or something?”_

_“It isn’t something you haven’t done before, if it was, I wouldn’t be asking.” Mycroft replied, ignoring Greg’s questions. “I need you to look after Sherlock.”_

_“You don’t really have to ask you know, It isn’t like I mind looking over him.” The DI returned. “I’ll pick him up on my way to work, he can help me with some work, keep him occupied “_

_“You can’t take the day off?”_

_“Not if I still want my job. No.”_

_There was a pause on the other end. “Yes fine, we’ll be waiting for you then.”_

The officer looked up towards the door as he heard it creak open, to find Mycroft stepping out with Sherlock not that far behind him. It was strange to see Sherlock so subdued, trying to make himself smaller in order to fit behind the older man as he walked towards his car. But he attributed that to the fact that there were people who wanted to talk to him, ask questions, and the like. He and Mycroft exchanged looks through the glass, the ones you see in those movies were the parents are divorced and share custody and no ill feelings towards one another, as Sherlock made his way to the car.

The younger man slipped in without a sound, remaining quiet as he did his seatbelt before slumping against the window to hide his face from most of the world. Neither of them said a word as they pulled away from the curb and into the traffic, instead sitting in a somewhat comfortable silence.

“You didn’t have to do this.” Sherlock stated breaking the silence that filled the car as they drove, his voice was quiet, subdued as he spoke, as if he thought he was being a bother to the silver haired man behind the steering wheel.

“Maybe I wanted to do this,” Greg replied as they rolled to a stop at the light, giving the older man a chance to look at his passenger. Sherlock looked like he did when they had first met, so young, trying to hide down in his seat as to go unnoticed and it made Greg’s chest ache.

“Maybe I miss you, you know.” He added quietly as he looked back towards the road and began to move.

 

* * *

 

The garage at the yard was still rather empty as they pulled in. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, Sherlock spending the time, thinking about what the older man had said, That wasn’t the answer Sherlock had been expecting, not really, He had been playing this over in his head since Mycroft told him this morning that the DI was going to take him to the yard with him. He imagined that Greg would be upset and annoyed at the fact he had to look out for Sherlock while trying to do his job. But thinking about it now, maybe that was just how Sherlock thought he would feel for having to be in charge of him again.

The parking garage was still rather empty by the time they pulled in and that was something that Sherlock was grateful for. It meant that he could get in and settled into his friend’s office with little to no one seeing him if he played his cards right, and that was all that mattered. Though as he opened the door and stepped out, he wasn’t entirely sure if this was such a great idea, coming to sit in a building were the majority of people hated him before, but Greg would protect him right?

“Come on Sunshine.” Greg called as he slid out of his seat and locked the car before walking a few paces ahead, Sherlock nodded and pulled his coat collar up before keeping his head down as he followed, careful not to run into the other man. However he looked up occasionally to make sure there was no chance of running into anyone. His heart was racing the closer they got to the building as he waited for the inevitable, but the moment they walked through the door, it was evident that Greg had chosen to take the path that was less likely to be full of people and for that he was grateful.

“I hope you don’t mind, I have some cold cases you can look through on my desk if you’d like. “The DI stated as they made their way to his office, the younger man nodded, work would be good, it would give him something else to think about, to focus on other than the fact he was in a building he hadn’t been in such a long time. But he doubted that time would have made anyone forgive him, why would they?

“Cold cases are good.” Sherlock supplied and they were, it kept him out of public view and of people wanting to interview him, though he knew he would have to face that soon, sadly he couldn’t keep hiding forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this isn't progressing very far very fast and the chapters aren't that long, but I am getting stuck here and there.


	16. Not Ready

He was tucked away in the small sofa that lined the wall behind Greg's door, hidden from view of those who passed by the open door. It put Sherlock at ease with this arrangement, but he was still weary of those who ventured farther than the door could hide him. But until then he was perfectly fine looking through the files, making notes on the paper he had been given to slip into each file when he was done. It was calm and quiet within the confines if the DI's office even with the hustle and bustle that was occurring in the squad room just beyond the door, and for the most part, it was nice, a slice of the normal life he had had before, made somewhat better since no one knew he was there to make snide comments about him.

Sherlock looked up at Greg as he paused between files, the silver haired man filling out the incident reports and case files from the murders that had crossed his desk in the days prior. His eyes moved towards the single file in the in tray on his desk and his fingers were itching to grab it. It was new, fresh, something he could dive deeper in, something that could provide something more than a slice of normalcy for him. However, he knew Greg would tell him no, that he couldn't be involved with the new case and that until things were sorted, the mostly finished stack of cold cases were all he was going to get.

The younger man sighed and shifted in his seat, a few of his joints popping as he did so, earning him a glance from the detective, under any other circumstance he would have expected an amused look and maybe a mumbling of 'old man' thrown his way. However he assumed this was the result of being held captive had on his joints. He wasn’t that old, not really, he was only thirty seven and there was no history of arthritis in his family. Sherlock didn’t say anything as he looked back down at his stack of work. Greg had stopped writing and his posture had change and he had cleared his throat as if he was going to speak, but what he was going to say ever crossed his lips as someone knocked on his door.

Sherlock Jerked his head towards the sound, jumping slightly, startled at the noise. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Greg giving him a look of concern before turning his attention to the person on the other side.

“Call just came in, body found in an alley, same as the last two.” Sally stated, “They are waiting for us.”

Sherlock’s heart began to beat faster as he turned his attention to Greg, his hands already grabbing the files to move them off his lap.

“I’ll be down there in a second.” The Inspector replied and watched the door until she left.

“No.” Greg sighed as he turned his attention to Sherlock, who had moved the cold case files from his lap. “Absolutely not, Sherlock. No.”

“What? Why not? You can’t leave me here.” Sherlock countered as he looked at the older man.

“Sherlock, you are hiding from the papers, what do you think that this will do?”

“Make me feel like I am getting back to normal.” He replied. “Maybe it’s what I need, I just need to jump right back into everything…drown one thing out with another.”

Greg groaned and he scrubbed his hands over his face before leaving them there for a moment, before leaned back in his chair, his arms falling on to his lap. “Right, right, either way Mycroft is going to flay me alive regardless.” He muttered as he stood “Grab your coat, you can go, but you are going to ride in the squad car, no exceptions.” Sherlock nodded as he stood, grabbing his coat, slipping it on.

The silver haired man knew it wasn’t a great idea, it wasn’t even a good idea to have Sherlock out there in the field with him, but he couldn’t leave him there to his own devices with the risk of one of his officers finding out. At least with Sherlock with him, he could look after him, to an extent.

The squad room went silent as they stepped out into the hall, everyone’s eyes had fallen onto Sherlock creating that tension and awkward feeling that was more hindrance than helpful. Greg grumbled as he stopped and grabbed Sherlock’s coat sleeve, pulling him to his side, becoming a barrier between the stares.

“Don’t you have something else to do? Like your jobs?” Greg asked, pulling Sherlock forward as they continued to walk, the older man not stopping to see if they had actually done what he had suggested.

“Sorry.” Sherlock mumbled as the doors closed,

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

 

* * *

 

Maybe asking to come to the scene was not the best idea Sherlock had had, but it was too late to tell Greg to turn back as they pulled up to the yellow caution tape. Sally was the first one out of the car, the Sergeant obviously not pleased with the fact he had tagged along, though that was blatant from the fact she had bore a hole in the back of his head with the way she had been staring at him as Greg drove. However he did not acknowledge her or even throw a deduction or two in her direction, instead he tried to pretend he was smaller than he was, but it was rather hard considering he was six feet tall. She hadn’t said anything to him either, but she was certain to give Greg an earful as he drove.

“ _You brought him along and didn’t even tell me?” She hissed lowly. “Greg! You can’t do that, he’s a liability after everything and you brought him along!?”_

_“It will be fine, Sally.” He had replied turning to look at her before looking over his shoulder to where Sherlock had curled up near the door._

_“No it won’t, nothing good will come from this, you just watch.”_

Sherlock sighed as he stepped out of the car, unfolding himself while ignoring the stares he was getting from those already on the scene. They had gone quiet, but that wasn’t what Sherlock was focusing on, instead he was intent on staying somewhat in a working zone. He closed the door with a sot thud and turned to find Greg standing there, waiting for him.

“If any of this gets overwhelming, tell me, and I’ll take you back to the yard alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sherlock…”

“I’ll be fine, detective inspector.”

Sherlock could hear Greg huff as he turned to make his way towards the tape, ducking under it to make his way towards the body lying in the middle of the alleyway. There was no keeping his head down this time as stopped and leaned over the body, taking in the man’s appearance and gave an annoyed huff when he didn’t notice anything immediately.

And as he looked over the victim, it became more and more obvious he wasn’t focusing on the body but more on the people around him, the way they moved, their conversations, the fact they were talking about him, and not too kindly either. God he should have stayed at the office, he wasn’t ready for this, not yet, no matter how hard he tried to get back to normal, he couldn’t do a public scene just yet.

He looked up as someone shifted closer to find Greg standing near him.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered as he looked at the older man. “I can’t handle this, I thought I could, but I can’t”

“That’s okay, sunshine.” Greg stated, his voice even and warm as he spoke. “Come on and I’ll take you back to the station.”

“Can you just have Mycroft send someone to pick me up?”

 


	17. Coming Home

The dark tinted windows allowed Sherlock to see out and for no one to see in and that was a comfort, it meant he no longer had to hide the fact he was out and about in London. It had taken Mycroft’s driver approximately ten minutes to arrive after Greg had helped him to his feet and called his brother. Mycroft had asked nothing more than his location, and for that Sherlock was grateful, he had made enough of a scene as it was. Greg had waited with him, just outside the police tape, not saying anything but just giving him the silent support one would get from a parent, and in essence that what the Detective inspector was to him, even if he never voiced it. As the black Mercedes came to a halt in front of them, the silver haired man opened the door for him and he slipped in silently.

“Sherlock.” Greg said softly as he stood in the gap between the door and car body. “If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call okay?”

Sherlock had nodded silently as he looked down at his clasped hands on his lap.

“I mean it sunshine, I want you to call me if you need anything, I want you to be okay and feel safe.”

“I will.” He affirmed as he looked up at the man holding his door open. “I will Greg.” There was a small smile in return before the older man stepped back and shut the door. Sherlock sighed as the car began to move and he leaned against the window watching London pass him by as he counted the minutes until he was back at his flat, even if there was going to be no one there waiting for him.

The silence of 221 as of late was always unsettling to John, it reminded him of just how alone Sherlock really was with no one there with him, though he didn’t actually think Mycroft would leave the detective to his own devices, not now at least. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, Mycroft had told him to go and sort out his relationship, figure out why Mary had said that, but in all honestly he didn’t want to have that conversation unless he had a backup plan. And that is why he was there, slowly taking the familiar stairs to Sherlock’s flat.

The doctor’s brow furrowed the moment he opened the flat door to find it completely and utterly empty. No one was sitting on the couch, no one in his chair, he had even went as far as to checking Sherlock’s bedroom, which too, was cold and empty. He told himself not to panic, that there was obviously nothing wrong and that Sherlock was safe, he had probably gone out with whoever was watching him, though that is what he hoped as he lowered himself into his chair, crossing his legs, settling in to wait.

A small part of John couldn’t believe that Mary had told Sherlock that he was just going to hold him back. He knew that tons of people didn’t like the dark haired man, but those people usually had some sort of interaction prior to jumping to assumptions, but with his fiancée there was nothing to go on. He had never spoken ill of Sherlock while he had been gone, not even after what Tim had told him. He had just removed that part of his life and continued to live, her words were based on unfound ground. There was always that possibility she was jealous, however, that usually occurred between the women he was romantically involved with and his best friend, and while she didn’t know what he had been through, there was no need for her to be that cruel to the detective.

And then there was the matter of the note he had never left for her, he had left nothing stating here he had been staying, he didn’t even mention that he wasn’t going to be home, there really wasn’t a need to in his mind, they didn’t live together, not yet at least. And once they had their little discussion, he doubted if she ever would be for that matter, and that was something he would be pleased with if he was honest.

The army doctor looked towards the door as he heard the stairs creek under the weight of someone walking up them, and he slowly stood as the door opened. Sherlock paused in the door way as he say that there was someone else there, but by the looks of it, he couldn’t exactly make who it was out.

“You’re safe Sherlock, it’s just me.” John stated, and Sherlock slowly entered, he looked tired and worn, his face was slightly more pale than usual, but for the most part he looked as well as could be expected.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked as he closed the door behind him, slowly peeling his coat off his body to hang it up before unwinding his scarf. He had not expected any one to be there, let alone John. He wouldn’t have talked to her yet, at least Sherlock didn’t think so, he was standing there empty handed, no boxes or laptop, but he was foolish to think that John would come and move back in with him full time. “I thought you were going to stay away as per my brother’s instructions.”

John paused for a moment as his eyes followed his friend as he sunk down into his chair, his hands coming to steep under his chin as he looked at John.

“I don’t always listen to what he says.” The doctor replied as he shifted his weight. “I wanted to ask you something before I confront her.”

“Oh?”

“I know you are fine with me staying a few nights, most nights, but would you be fine with me moving back in for good.”

That was not what Sherlock had been expecting and for a moment everything stopped. John wanted to move back in, he wanted to stay. He looked up at the man standing before him, his hands slowly coming to rest on his lap.

“O-of course, John. The room is always yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this didn't turn out entirely as I expected it to


	18. Headline

It was unusual for John to be awake before Sherlock, but as the Army doctor made his way down the stairs, it was nice to see that the taller man was still in bed, asleep. He knew that the nightmares woke the detective up most nights and that he was usually too afraid to fall asleep afterwards that he would stay up until he needed to sleep. It was no secret between them that Sherlock wasn’t able to keep the same hours he used to, not as his body healed. Of course most of the injuries on the outside had closed and begun to fade, but it could take up to six months or more for the internal damage to be healed completely. So in essence sleep was essential for him to heal faster, sleep was what he needed, because even if he wouldn’t admit it, John knew Sherlock was only human.

The army doctor yawned as he made his way into the kitchen and switched on the kettle for morning tea before making his way towards Sherlock’s bedroom to make sure he truly was alright. The door was cracked open enough to allow him to peer in. Sherlock laid curled up on his side, facing the door, his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept what must have been the first time properly in the last few days. It felt good to know that in a few days’ time that things would somewhat resemble what they had. He would be moving back in, back upstairs to his room, and he would be able to keep an eye on Sherlock much better, make sure he slept, and ate and help him with his nightmares as much as he could.

Of course before he could do that, he had to address Mary of course. He still had yet to talk to her, he had spent the last two days avoiding her why he thought of a way to breach the subject. But it didn’t matter how long he thought about it, the end was still going to be messy, more so than the end of his other relationships, but when it came down to it. Sherlock was worth it.

He turned quickly as the kettle began to whistle, rushing over to turn it off before he disturbed Sherlock’s peaceful slumber. Though as his tea steeped it appeared as if he was not quick enough as he heard Sherlock’s mattress squeak as he rose. John turned to watch as his friend came down the hall and stopped by the fridge, his curls were mused as his rubbed the sleep away from his face.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” John said as he took a sip from his mug

“I need to be up anyway.” Sherlock mumbled as he made his way to the window to stand for a few moments while he woke up properly. He had taken to standing near the window more than lying on the couch, but John assumed that was because he could see those who passed by and made an attempt to enter, since he was certain the backdoor had been bolted shut since Mrs. Hudson had left. It was Sherlock’s way of making sure that he was safe, that no one was going to just walk in and take him.

Sherlock leaned against the cool glass, looking down at those were passing by his flat, his eyes following every other person for no other reason than for something to focus on, from below a few people looked up to see him there, and there was something written on their faces that he didn’t particularly like, however, he had no idea what would cause them to look rather… joyous was it... to see him.

Behind him John shuffled around the kitchen grabbing mugs and opening tea packets allowing them to steep as he made his way down stairs to get the paper that was laying on the stoop. It was a somewhat normal morning that made him feel like he had before he had fallen, but even that was bound to change before he dressed for the day.

The detective shifted slightly as he heard John come back up the stairs, his steps slow and steady, as if he was reading the paper on his way up, thought Sherlock had no idea what could possibly interesting enough that John had to read on his way up the steps.  However, his answer came seconds later with the calling of his name.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“When did you start taking cases again?” John asked and he turned around to face the doctor, his brow furrowed.

“I haven’t taken any cases.”

“Yeah, well that isn’t want this headline or the picture say.” John replied as he held the paper out for Sherlock to take. The paper crumpled around his hands as he snatched it from John, his heart pounding as he stared down at the image of him standing by Greg behind the Police tape, most likely taken seconds after Lestrade had gotten off the phone with Mycroft and they were heading towards the curb to wait for the car.

_BACK ON THE JOB?_

_After three years after jumping off the Roof of London’s Bart Hospital, and nearly a week after being found out to be alive it seems that the world’s famous Detective Sherlock Holmes has returned to solving crimes. Holmes was seen yesterday at what appeared to be a crime scene with known Associate Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, who became rather known after his department came under fire during the months following Holmes, supposed death. Attempts to contact both Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes have been unsuccessful and comments about this latest development are currently pending._

Sherlock felt a tightness in his chest as he tossed the paper off to the side, of course someone was bound to notice him while he had been out the day before. How could anyone miss him? He hadn’t changed anything about his appearance what so ever.

“Sherlock, Sherlock I need you to breathe okay?” John’s voice caught his attention causing him to look up to see worry written across the other man’s features.

“I only went out to see if I could do it.” Sherlock mumbled and John stepped closer pausing to see if the dark haired man would stop him before he continued into his space. Sherlock was focusing on John’s face as he came closer, trying to read the expressions on his friends face.

“I went because I wanted something that resembled normal... I just want things to go back to how they were John.” He mumbled again as John’s hands gently grabbed his arms.

“That’s fine Sherlock, I understand. I understand that you want things to go back to normal, that you think you should be over this, but it takes time, more time than I know you want it to. “John said softly. “But you have to realize that just because you are testing the waters to see what you can handle that they aren’t going to leave you alone and sooner or later you are going to have to talk to them Sherlock, if not, they are going to take as much liberties as they can until you have to set the record straight.”

Sherlock nodded as he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again as he allowed John to wrap his arms around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one didn't end up like I first intended either, but I do like the way it turned out


	19. hidden intentions

John was warm and soft and safe, though he wasn’t as safe as Mycroft was, Sherlock’s mind supplied as he breathed in the doctors scent. The doctor was that safety one would associate with being wrapped up in a large blanket, one that soothed and assured that nothing else could go wrong, while his brother was just this force that had been there his entire life that always seemed willing to move mountains to make sure no one hurt him, no matter how often they were at each other’s throats like rabid dogs.

John’s body shifted under him, his leg moving, most likely aching from having Sherlock’s weight against it, though the taller man was certain John was happier that they had made it to the couch this time instead of Sherlock going dead weight and going down in the middle of the sitting room on the hard floor, effectively pinning him there until he could get a grasp on himself enough to move. Though the brunette was beginning to wonder when John would grow tired of this, his need for some sort of physical reassurance, he had to be growing tired of it didn’t he?

Sherlock sighed as he slowly pushed himself up right, John’s hand slowly falling away from where it had been resting at the base of his skull. He could feel John’s eyes on him as he straightened himself out.

“You alright there?” the doctor asked and the detective nodded not looking up completely from his hands.

“You should probably go and start to pack up your belongings, yes?” Sherlock asked “Or have you changed your mind about moving in?”

 

* * *

 

The tumblers clicked softly as John turned the key, unlocking the door before pushing it open slowly and silently. The flat was dark as he shoved the boxes he had brought with him inside the room, his hand feeling around the wall for the light switch. Soft white light filled the space, illuminating the few belongings he had to pack and take back to Baker Street. He was moving out of the building, out of this section of London and back to the one he had left, to the one that felt like home, because well that was what baker street was. Home. His Landlord knew of his departure and he had already filled the change of address with the post office, the only thing he needed to do now was pack up.

There wasn’t much to pack, he had acquired little during the last few years and what didn’t belong to him would be given back to Mary when he dropped it off that was if she didn’t show up here first. He had yet to confront her about what she had told Sherlock they day she had gone looking for him. He had no idea how to express his anger at her statement in words, even when he ran what he was trying to say through his head, they came up flat and didn’t seem to hold the emotion he was going for. Though he was hoping that the words and the weight of them he was looking for would present itself the moment he finally came face to face with her. Until then, however, he had other things to focus on.

The doctor began to stack up his books, placing them into the closest box, placing things that belonged to Mary off to the side on the couch. He was being careless with her objects, though careful enough not to damage them. He turned slightly to toss the novel of hers into the couch, the hard bound bouncing on the couch before falling into the floor. He sighed as he grabbed the last few books of his before making his way to place them in the box before bending down to pick up the book. The pages dragged along gently on the floor as he grasped it by the spine, closing it as he went before placing it on the couch next to the other items of hers when something caught his attention.

Sticking out of the top of the book was the edge of a piece of faded yellow paper, his brow furrowed as he grasped the edge, slipping it from it from what he noted as was a spy novel. Scrawled across the page

_Sherlock Holmes_

_221 B Baker Street, Flat B first floor_

_Lives alone, no surveillance, no landlady_

_Recovering drug addict with periods of relapse: Cocaine_

_Currently declared deceased, no one to turn to upon arrival back to London_

_Easy target given separation_

John stared down at the paper, at Mary’s hand writing across the page as he read and reread the vague details about Sherlock, ones that he had never disclosed to Mary. Hell they were details that even he didn’t know until recently and the fact she knew them was unnerving. The note he had in his hand coupled with how she spoke to Sherlock was unsettling to say the least and didn’t like it.

Carefully he folded the paper in half once and then twice before sliding it into his back pocket as he headed for the door, he didn’t want to think of the implications of what the paper meant, at least not at the moment.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken such a long time to update, but I've been stuck on how to get this going and how to incorporate the idea that I have with out ruining the plot, but I think I have already done that


	20. Motives

Mary didn’t quiet remember when she stopped being who she was and she began to woman who stole a name off of a tombstone to hide in plain sight as she tried to hide from her old life. She had worked for the secret service before, occasionally going out on undercover missions, obtaining critical information, taking out those who posed threats to the safety of others. And that worked for a while before her cover was blown and her superiors discovered that she wasn’t just working for them. She had fled in the middle of the night before they could take her in and charge her for treason and for a handful of months she moved around, always looking over her shoulder making sure she wasn’t being followed, changing her name every so often and never staying anywhere long enough for them to catch up to her, until she came across Jim Moriarty.

Jim seemed to appear in her life at the right time, she was getting tired of running and always looking over her shoulder and he had just what she needed: something a bit more permanent. The name she had chosen for herself came off of a tombstone as she roamed a cemetery for a new identity, the one that she used as she slowly became part of the Criminals ranks. What he had offered her to join him was too good to pass up: a new and secure life, one that was no longer defined by looking over her shoulder for those who wanted to arrest her, and all she had to do for it? Everything she had done before, just in a more sinister way.

It worked out fabulously for her for a while, getting caught up in the adrenaline rush and the premises she was doing some good in the world, until she got caught up in the little game James Moriarty decided he was going to play with a detective she had never seen nor heard about before she sat up in the raptors of the pool. It was there she saw the lengths her boss would go to make sure that this game carried on, not that she minded.

Mary watched from a distance as all of this played out, playing no bigger part than was needed, that was until the day Sebastian Moran took charge of the Criminal web. Jim Moriarty’s death had come as a surprise but overall it wasn’t unexpected to say the least, especially not after what she had witnessed at the pool those months before. Under Moran she slipped into a “normal” life, taking up a receptionist position at an A&E and waited for her order. While she enjoyed her time as a freelance assassin of sorts, the woman had to be truthful to herself, she could get use to this life style, there was nothing to worry about, people were no longer looking for her, her current identity was secure along with a credible backstory and official looking documents. And as for her assignment of getting close to John Watson wasn’t so difficult as she thought, thought she had never intended of falling in love with him, she was just simply supposed to reinforce the information that Tim had been feeding him.

The months following her entry into John Watson’s life were rather pleasant, and the fact she had a job to do was the farthest thing from her mind, though it occasionally surfaced as she received updates from Moran on the detective’s whereabouts as they all patiently waited for his return to London. The night he returned to London, Mary’s anxiety spiked, however, it didn’t last long, there wasn’t much of an uproar. No one even seemed to notice and that was all due to the plans they had been carrying out. The home stretch of this plan happened after they knew that Sherlock had been taken, all they had to do was wait for the message saying that the detective had been taken care of once and for all before they could all finally move on to bigger and better things.

However, everything that had been planned went up in smoke when the man had been found. Mary had pretended to be ignorant to the fact that she knew he was alive, she pretended not to notice that they others were being rounded up for their part in this and for the most part she was still safe and it would have stayed that way until her eyes caught the paper one morning with the headline she had been dreading to see, one stating Sherlock Holmes was indeed alive. It was something she could no longer ignore and despite the fact there was no longer a network, she still had a Job to finish, an obligation to uphold, especially when the end result of this obligation was something she had been striving for.

She had plans to put distance between John and Sherlock, at least enough to make the latter an easier and more vulnerable target, one that would be relatively easy for anyone who had an issue with the Great detective to take him out. Though she never intended to slip up and mention that John had left a note about his whereabouts, nevertheless, that no longer mattered as she made her way down Baker Street, taking her time, observing her surroundings to make sure no one would notice where she was headed as she passed Speedy’s and began to ascended the steps to the street door of Baker Street. It was that time of day that John should be at work and even if anyone noticed her entry, it wouldn’t cross their mind as suspicious, he was known for taking client’s and the most recent headline that accompanied his face on the paper was one in regards to going back to his lively hood, how much easier could it be?


	21. caught

This didn’t seem to be much easier in Mary’s mind as she reached out for the door knob, her gloved hand grasping the bronze knob her hand slowly turning it. As far as she knew Sherlock Holmes as alone upstairs because John was at work, or he should have been because last time she checked he had not called in for the day off. And for as far as she knew, no one else was there with him, it would be quick, really. He wouldn’t see it coming. There was a smile on her lips as she went to push the door open just to find that an arm had come from behind her to grab the knocker, yanking the door firmly against the door jamb. Mary jumped at the action and cursed herself for not being more vigilant before attempting to enter the building, no matter how suspicious it would have been for her to constantly look over her shoulder before doing so. The scent of John’s cologne filled her nose as she turned to see who was attempting to stop her. Though she knew exactly who it was before she turned to look John in the face, the watch he was wearing, along with the sweater that stuck out of the cuff of his dark jacket.

“Let go of the door John.” Mary stated as she turned to face him but not really meeting his face, her hand still on the door knob.

“No.” John replied firmly as he tightened his grip on the door knocker, pulling it firmer against the jamb, fearing that it just might be ripped from the door.

“Let go John.” She repeated as she moved to push the door open, finding it didn’t particularly budge. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“Well I am not going to let you hurt him.” John replied, his voice a near sneer, his hand gripping the knocker even harder, his knuckles turning white and the metal and his nails were digging into his skin. He wasn’t going to budge, not until she let go of the door first. He wasn’t going to give her the chance to hurt Sherlock, in fact if he had his way, no one was ever going to have the chance to hurt the brunette again. While he may have not have been there to protect the detective from Moran, he was going to protect him from everyone else.

“You don’t understand John.” Mary’s voice was pleading, her free hand snaking around her torso, just to hang over her bag and whatever she had in there, it may have been nothing or it may have been something, either way. He wasn’t going to take that chance, his hand slowly going around his back, to the weight settling against his lower back as his belt held his browning.

“You’re right, I don’t understand.” He replied “I don’t understand half of this, but what I do understand is that you have information about him saying he’s an easy target when alone, now that doesn’t take much to realize that there are intentions to hurt him, and that is something I won’t let you do, regardless of who you are.”

John took his eyes away from her for a moment, sweeping them over the street before glancing at his watch, he could feel Mary scrutinizing him as she came up with a way to defend her actions, thought it wasn’t like he actually wanted to hear about this, now he was just waiting for the familiar sleek black Mercedes to pull up silently besides them. He had contacted Mycroft on his way back to Baker Street, it was quick, formal, though the one thing John just had to say to get the older man’s attention was there was a high possibility his little brother was in danger, though why he had not appeared before John was somewhat a mystery, but then again half of what he did usually was.

Mary had just taken a breath to speak when something caught John’s eye, though he tried not to allow the glimmer of the pristine car to catch his full attention. He did however, watch as the back door slowly opened and out stepped Mycroft, and needless to say, he didn’t look very happy or anything close to it, in fact the look might as well have been classified as murderous,

* * *

 

It had been the last thing he had expected that Morning as he tried to sort out some of the foreign affairs he had put aside, and for a moment Mycroft was rather tempted to allow his phone to sit on his desk and vibrate away, however, he did take a moment to glance at the screen to see John’s name lighting up his screen. That alone made him pick it up and glance over the message he had been sent. He had known there was a chance of Sherlock being a target and injured once more, that had been at the back of his mind since his team had found the file that currently sat at the end of desk, and the fact John was telling him Sherlock was in harm’s way was more than enough to get him to act.

It had taken him less than ten minutes to get to the garage and his waiting car, and it took even less time to have a few of his people get the warehouse he used for questioning ready, just in case.

As the Mercedes pulled in front of Baker Street, he had been expecting the worst, though John Watson, having what appeared to be a domestic was not one of them, though after a few seconds it clicked. The door swung open with silent ease and he stepped out of the car, eyes flickering between John, Mary, and then up to the empty window of his brother’s flat.

“A minor detail I seemed to have overlooked.” Mycroft announced as he got close enough, Mary’s body jumped slightly as she turned around, her hand finally slipping away from the brass knob to fall at her side as she looked down at him.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” The woman replied

“Oh you will soon enough, Ms. Morstan, now are you going to get in the car willingly, or am I going to have to make you?”

Mary looked at him for a moment if she was weighting her options, and the fact there was a small crowd that began to gather was not working in their favor for any type of altercation.

“You are making a mistake.” She said as she began to descend the stairs. “I’m not the enemy here, Sherlock Holmes is.”


	22. Chapter 22

Mycroft’s eyes followed Mary as she slowly slipped into the car, watching until she vanished into the interior before turning his attention back to the building, his eyes flicking up towards the window, to find the space now occupied. Sherlock stared down at the scene from behind the sheer curtains, the fabric skewing his face, making it difficult for Mycroft to deduce anything about his current state. It seemed as if he and his little brother stood there for hours having this sort of staring contest, but it was no more than a few seconds before Sherlock backed away from the glass, leaving the space empty once more.

“Come alone John. You and I have some business to attend to, I believe.” He stated as he turned his attention towards the Doctor, the look on the younger man’s face telling him that was not what John had in mind. “Sherlock will be fine, I’m sure. My Brother understands the severity of the situation.” He lingered for a moment before turning to make his way to the Mercedes. The last thing John wanted was to come with them, however the doctor needed to be there for nothing more than to understand why Mary had targeted Sherlock, why Sherlock was a target to begin with.

John slipped into the car seconds after he did, and Mycroft didn’t fail to note the fact that the doctor chose to sit closer to him than his fiancée. Mary didn’t look at either of them as the car pulled away from the curb, and no one spoke as they headed towards the outskirts of the city towards the warehouse he favored for this sort of rendezvous with less than savory individuals. It was the same one that the rest of the web was taken to and questioned in the days that proceeded Sherlock’s rescue, and there was no need to change the location now.

The warehouse looked familiar to John, though the last time he had been there it had been dark, and he had just decided to move in with Sherlock, though this time it wasn’t about the screening of people who intended to get closer to Sherlock, this was an off the beaten path for interrogation, like those that occurred in the movies Sherlock hates. Mary was the first one out of the car, followed by him and Mycroft, and if she seemed to be phased by this, she wasn’t letting it show. For the most part, nothing really showed on her face and it was more or less unsettling.

“Why am I here Mycroft?” He asked as they trekked inside the building, his fiancée now flanked by two of Mycroft’s people that seemed to be hiding in the shadows, waiting for them.

“There are certain things that have to be discussed and they concern you, this is the easiest way to handle the situation.” Mycroft answered. “All you have to do is stand to the side and listen, nothing more Doctor Watson.”

Mycroft left John standing in the shadows as he approached the table that Mary had been placed at, her features were school as she sat with her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes searching for a way to escape or any type of weapon she could possibly use since her bag had been confiscated by his driver.

“I am not the enemy here, Sherlock is.” She began before he even had a chance to grab the thick file from one of his staff members that were waiting for them.

“I highly doubt that Ms. Morstan.” He replied as he dropped the thick collection of paper on the metal surface of the table, his eyes never leaving her face, though she never looked anywhere but his. “While Sherlock in his own right is a handful on his own, his criminal record contains nothing more than possession, and the only file of his that is anywhere near this one in thickness, are his hospital records, which these are not. Though I am sure this will look rather familiar to you.”

In one smooth motion, Mycroft had turned the file folder and flipped open the cover.

“What’s this?”

“You tell me.” He said as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes scanning over the words that had not been black out by the marker. A small feeling of satisfaction settling in the older man’s chest as her eyes widened as she began to realize what she was reading.

“I don’t know.” Mary said a few minutes later, her voice lower now, not as sharp as she spoke.

“You and I both know that isn’t right but since you won’t say it, I will. It’s your employment file for James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. You have a rather impressive track record It seems. You do this sort of thing for a living, not one to particularly give up when everyone else has, that’s why he was still your target.”

“We were given an order and I have every intention of finishing it.” Mary stated as she leaned back into the chair. “It would have been finished already if Moran didn’t get caught, none of this would have mattered then, it would have been happily ever after then.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed slightly not pleased in the slightest at the fact his little brother was being talking about like something that was easily disposable when people where not to fond of him.

“You had a paper that stated he was an easy target when separate.” John spoke up before Mycroft could find the beginning of his next sentence.

“That was the idea, get him alone, no one to defend him, by the looks of it he can’t defend himself at the moment either, it would have been easy, made it look like an accident with a the publicity he has been getting lately, he cracked under pressure from the papers, no one would know any different.” Mary stated. “And the hospital would have gotten all of the blame for releasing his information.”

Mycroft’s attention was focused on John as his hand clenched, a handful of emotions crossed the doctor’s face in a heart beat before his nostrils flared and a smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

“You knew what his death did to me and you were willing to put me through that again?”

“You have me what would that matter?”

“It matters a hell of a lot!” John’s voice rose as he made his way towards the table, Mary’s attention on him as he stood just outside the full range of the overhead lamp, the soft light illuminating the doctor’s face, the anger in his eyes and that deadly smile that played on his lips when he was angry and upset at the same time. “He’s My best friend, my only friend, someone I would go to the end of the earth for, he is the person that saved me, so it matters a hell of a lot.”

The room went silent and John squared his shoulders, “I’m done here.” He announced, “I am done with you, now if you excuse me, I have somewhere to be, and it’s as far away from here as I can get.” The doctor didn’t wait for Mycroft’s dismissal as he turned and marched towards the door, he didn’t turn at the call of his name, and he didn’t look back as he walked out of the doors and slipped into the car to be taken back to Baker Street.


	23. Chapter 23

He was trying to tell himself that there was no reason for him to be that unsettled, plenty of people had slipped through the cracks when it came to raids on criminal rings and operations. That was how, years after being dismantled, they would resurface with the same principle and a different face at the reigns. Of course he had never considered that the person who had slipped through the cracks had been sitting on his couch a few days ago. Sherlock sighed as he rested his face in his hands as he elbows rested on his knees. His heart was racing, pounding against his chest as he tried not to think about the events he had witnessed from his window. He had heard the voices from down stairs, John and Mary’s arguing. John protecting him against Mary who seemed so set on hurting him, as if he had not been hurt enough. His limbs were trembling at the thought he was so close to being at someone elses mercy again, and the thoughts that were running through his mind were far from pleasant.

He had been hoping that Mycroft would have let John stay, even though he knew that it wasn’t a possibility, some sliver of him wanted John there and would have preferred if Mycroft disclosed everything once it was over. Though, things hardly worked in Sherlock’s favor.

The detective breathed deeply through his nose as he heard the street door open before closing softly. He tried to calm his racing heart, telling him it was no one was going to harm him, however it wasn’t working. He didn’t truly believe it, at least not until he saw who was ascending the stairs. He didn’t look up as the footsteps drew closer, instead he moved his hands from his face and his arms wrapped around his torso, hands grasping the fabric of his dressing gown pulling it tightly over his body.

“Sherlock?” The tension that had been gripping his body exploded as John’s welcome voice broke the silence of the flat. The detective looked up from where he had been staring at the floor to find the doctor standing in the doorway just as solid and as sturdy as ever.

“Sherlock are you alright?” John asked him  again as he moved into the room and towards him, his pace feverish and his voice laced with worry, most likely thinking someone had gotten in while he had been away.” Did anyone hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” He answered as John stopped in front of him, a hand reaching out to cup his face, stopping just a few millimeters away from his skin and Sherlock leaned in. John’s scent was just as reassuring as the warm hand that touched his face, and for the moment, the detective was more than willing to overlook the hints of old oil, dirt, Clair de la lune, and the leather interior of his brother’s car. “No, no one hurt me… just shaken.”

Sherlock’s voice was low as he spoke, and he didn’t pay attention to that fact as the pad of John’s thumb brushed over his cheek bone before John’s other hand came to lift his chin up. John looked determined with his jaw set, shoulders squared, while his eyes held nothing but compassion and love and what may have well been the willingness to move mountains to make sure he was safe.

John gave him a reassuring smile as his hand lingered on his cheek for a moment before his hand slowly fell to his side. “I’ll put the kettle on.” The doctor said as he turned and made his way into the kitchen, turning the kettle on and pulling down the mugs that they may or may not use depending on how the next few moments progressed.

“She was one of them, wasn’t she?” Sherlock asked causing John to look in his direction. He was still sitting with his arms wrapped around himself like he had been when the doctor had come up the stairs, but at least now his shoulders were not as tense and he no longer looked pale and afraid. “One of Moriarty’s people.”

The doctor nodded. “She was, apparently this was a rather elaborate plan, but you knew that already.” The blonde stated as he cast a glance towards Sherlock, he would know the sort of set up they would have, Moran would have no doubly rubbed it into his friends face. “But Though I take it she was the last of them, Mycroft and his people where already looking for her.”

The detective nodded as he slowly stood from his chair, his long and lank form unfolding as he stretched, his arms now just wrapped loosely around himself, more for reassurance than anything else.

"You're safe now Sherlock." John said as he watched Sherlock slowly made his way into the kitchen with him. the younger man depositing himself in the chair that he usually occupied while experimenting. "No one is going to hurt you.... we won't let them."


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mycroft centric Chapter

Mycroft had always had his hands full when it came to dealing with this little brother. Sherlock was always a little rambunctious and hardly ever listened. When he was small, he would rush about the house wearing a pirate hat with the dog in tow looking for some secret treasure and during those times he refused to answer to anything other than “Captain Billy.” Of course his energy level mellowed out a bit when he began school, and at first Mycroft thought the slow change in his brother’s behavior was due to the fact he was disappointed that he had to be in a room learning for so many hours a day. Though later he would ask himself why he had been so blind to the fact Sherlock’s behavior wasn’t due to the fact he was confined in such a small space, but more to the fact he was being bullied by his peers.

It didn’t get any easier from there, more than once Mycroft had to retrieve his little brother from the office after being sent to the headmaster by his teachers for misbehavior, and after Redbeard had been put down, it had gotten worse. The fights and the instances of bullying he discovered had doubled, now if that was because Sherlock had only confided in the dog up until he had come home and found him gone and Mycroft had become the stand in a the end of the day was a mystery, but as long as Sherlock got it off his chest that was all that mattered.

He had tried to look after him as much as his schedule would allow, but like most things, the tables turned and the relationship he had with Sherlock became strained. He had never intentionally meant for the nature of their relationship to change, it just happened, quite literally overnight. Mycroft had just begun his internship and that day he had not heard his mobile go off and it wasn’t until he had gotten home that night that he realized this error. There had been a fight of sorts, more like a gang up with Sherlock at the receiving end of the blows. It was there that everything was left in shambles, a hurt and distraught Sherlock yelling at him through his tears that he didn’t need Mycroft to protect and look after him anymore, not after this let down. But it wasn’t like Mycroft actually listened.

He monitored Sherlock from afar once he moved out of the house, using his position to watch over him as he started Uni and his not so gradual decent into becoming an addict. Mycroft spent more time than he would ever admit to working out deals with desk sergeants and judges and setting up appointments with rehab centers and trying to figure out ways to hide his brother’s overdoses from their parents.

There had been a small sigh of relief when Sherlock became associated with Scotland yard and the premises of working for them if he stayed clean, the crimes were like puzzles and something that could give him the same effect as cocaine, and Mycroft was all for it as long as he stayed out of trouble for the most part.

Mycroft didn’t really known when he had slipped back into that role of big brother that he had vacated so long ago, it may have been when he rescued Sherlock from the Serbians or it might as well have been the moment he shot Moran between the eyes, either way it didn’t matter, as long as he was safe from harm’s way.

He made a disapproving sound at the back of his throat as he flipped through the file on the table, his eyes no longer meeting Mary’s and with John no longer there he could get down to the grittier aspect of this: disposal. Though that wouldn’t be difficult to say the least. She was a threat to national security and was more or less wanted in several countries for murder of very prominent individuals, and to top it off the fact she was part of an international crime web? Well it wouldn’t be that difficult to convince the higher ups that his course of action was necessary. When the finally looked up at the woman across from her, he gave her a tight lipped smile before turning to one of his men,

“You know what to do.”


	25. Chapter 25

Mary didn't seem fazed by the fact several of Mycroft's men were pulling her up to her feet, cuffing her hands behind her back, a smug look on her lips.

"You can't always protect him, you couldn't even prevent him from being taken." She spoke as if to get a rise out of Mycroft, however the older man didn't say a word, instead he shifted his weight and squared his shoulders before repeating himself to his agent closest to him.

"You know what to do." And he waited until she had been dragged out the door and out of sight. With a glance to his watch, Mycroft turned on his heel and headed back to his own waiting vehicle.

No one said a word as he made his way to his office, upon returning, and it seemed as if no one had noticed that he hadn’t been gone for the better part of two hours. Though he knew that wasn’t the case. It was their jobs to keep tabs on him as much as it was his Job to keep tabs on his younger brother, though Mycroft had to admit that that aspect of his people’s job was easier than his own.

His office had been just as he had left it when John had contacted him, though there were a few boxes sitting by the right side of the desk on the floor. Which, upon closer inspection, contained the files and papers that had been confiscated from Mary’s apartment. There was nothing of sentimental value in the containers, only stacks of papers and folders. Most of which were assignment plans that were given to her by Moriarty, others were assignments given by freelancers who wanted something done but not by their own hand.

Mycroft sorted the papers accordingly, those having to deal with the consulting criminal would be placed into storage with everything collected over the last two years while everything else was sent to other departments for investigating. The work was boring, and something he should have assigned someone else, most likely Anthea to do, if it had not been so important. Mary had been the last member of the web and she had been so determined to finish out her assignment so there had to be something there, something in all of the papers that would tell him what he needed to know.

Halfway through the last box, the eldest Holmes found what he was looking for.

The clue he was looking for, came in the shape of a medical release form those typically given to new patients so the physician can request a copy of their medical file so they can be caught up to speed. With the fact that Mary was a nurse and a receptionist, it would not have come as a surprise if she had a blank one in her possession, however this one was far from blank and therefore should not have been mixed in with the rest of her papers. But it was, and the name that filled in the line for the patient’s name told him why.

Mycroft doubted that Sherlock had actually signed away his right to privacy and distributed his own medical records to people he didn’t know let alone trust. Especially since he was trying to keep under the radar until he was comfortable admitting he was alive on his own. And yet there he was staring at the paper that was obviously filled out and signed with a rather decent forgery of his Brother’s signature.

Deeper in the box, were what he was hoping he honestly wouldn’t find, and as he pulled out the manila folder from the box and placed it onto the desk, his blood running cold as he flipped open the file to find papers he had seen before, some of which he had signed off on, others had only been seen by the physicians that had treated his brother after he had been taken up to intensive care. He flipped through the papers, eyes scanning the notes and such she had most likely read, though what she would have done with the information was unknown.

Located at the back of the file where copies of the picture that had been printed with the story when it first broke, who had gotten them for her was still unknown, but they may have already been dispatched of when their usefulness had run out.

The rest of the boxes contents where the most troublesome in Mycroft’s mind as he finished empting out the contents out onto his desk. It was all information on his little brother, mostly from the last two years, thought there were some papers in the mix from the last few months.

The eldest holmes took a deep breath as he tossed the last paper onto his desk before leaning back against his chair, running his hands down his face as he exhaled. They had been thorough when it came to getting Sherlock back for Moriarty’s death and despite the fact many did not expect the detective to live through his captivity they had come up with a backup plan that would ruin him if he did.

Everything was planned out, she had been informed when they had raided the compound, most likely from someone who managed to sneak out the back as they went through the front. But that didn’t matter now. It was over and she was gone with, and that was certain, though he would make sure of it before he paid his little brother a visit, the last thing he wanted to do was present the detective with false information. Until then, he would allow the fact that this was nearly over to sink in. All there was to do now was clean up the mess that had been left, though that was something Sherlock was going to have to handle mostly on his own. The media wanted to hear nothing more about Sherlock other than if it came from the man himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took such a long time to get this chapter to you, I've just had some serious writers block


	26. Reassurance

He stood in front of the window, his pale hand pulling back the sheer curtain just enough that he could see out to the street below but those who looked up in a quick glance would not notice him standing there. This was Sherlock’s thinking and look out spot for the most part, at least when he wasn’t sprawled out on the sofa with his hands under his chin. He had been there since John left for the clinic a few hours before, watching, waiting.

 

It had been a thirteen days since Mary had been more or less arrested by Mycroft on his doorstep, it had been thirteen days since John had walked up the steps to their flat to find Sherlock sitting in his chair almost panicking at the fact the only remaining member of Moriarty’s Network had nearly gotten into the flat to do him harm. Sherlock had taken in John’s reassurances, absorbed them and repeated them when he doubted for a moment that he wasn’t going to be safe. However that wasn’t enough. Not this time. This time he needed to hear it from Mycroft as well.

 

Mycroft had been the one he had worked with on this mission, the one he had planned this all out with. And he was the one Sherlock needed to hear the words “You’re safe” from. So he waited in front of the window every day while John was at work for the familiar glimpse of the discrete black car that his brother always arrived in.

 

Sherlock knew he was being impatient as he wondered what was taking Mycroft so long to appear at his door. There would be plenty of things to go over, plenty of things to tidy up before he could come and talk to Sherlock, debrief him in a way that meant this entire ordeal was over. Well as over as much as it could be.

 

Sherlock shifted slightly as his feet began to ache from standing for as long as he had. He was about to just forget about it for now and go grow a few different types of bacteria cultures with that was left of the milk. Though just as he was about to turn around, he saw the all too familiar sleek black car that Mycroft had pull in front of the flat. He waited until Mycroft stepped out of the car before moving to sit in his chair, grabbing his violin as he went. It needed to be tuned and he needed to pretend that he had not been waiting. Though he knew Mycroft probably saw him.

 

______________

 

Mycroft sighed as he stepped out of the black car that had been sitting in front of his brother’s flat for the better part of ten minutes. He had been sending messages to the handful of men that had made sure everything regarding Moriarty and Mary had been dealt with.

 

It was only after each and every one of them replied that their end had been in fact cleaned up, did he make his way out of the car. He stared up at the window his brother usually perched himself in front of to play his violin and found the sheer curtain moving ever so slightly as it fell back into place. Mycroft allowed himself a small smile as he walked up the stoop and opened the front door.

 

As he stepped inside he could hear Sherlock plucking the chords on this violin as he tuned it, though he had not been at it for long. He didn’t allow his mind to linger on the fact Sherlock had been waiting for him as he closed the street door behind him before heading up the stairs.

 

The wood creaked under his weight as he walked and his heart was beating unusually fast in his chest as he took a deep breath and stepped up on the landing.

 

He could see Sherlock sitting in his chair, violin in hand, staring down as his fingers plucked at the chords before making the adjustments as needed. It wasn’t too hard to see that Sherlock was actively attempting to ignore him like he would have ages before now. It was some semblance of normalcy, one given only by the fact Sherlock knew who was coming up those stairs.

 

Mycroft cleared his throat as he entered the sitting room and Sherlock looked up at him, his hands stopping where they were as he focused his attention on Mycroft as he took a seat in John’s chair. He waited a moment, taking the time to study Sherlock’s face, Taking in the little lines that had appeared on his skin, the fading circles under his eyes, the face that pulled for most people plastered on his face.

 

“I apologize that I did not come by sooner to see you, but as you can imagine there where some things that needed to be dealt with.”

 

Sherlock shifted in his seat and nodded slowly.

 

“I didn’t think I would take this long, She was the last one in his web.”

 

“She was, I just wanted to make sure that nothing was left overlooked, I did not wish to come and see you and give you a false sense of security.”

 

Something in Sherlock’s chest twinged a bit at Mycroft’s words. Sentiment. Caring, compassion, brotherly love.

 

“So does this mean…?” Sherlock asked as he leaned forward slightly, he left the question open, as if he could not bring himself to say it, like he did when he was child and asking for reassurance.

 

“Yes Sherlock, This means it is over.” Mycroft assured him, this voice calm and warm. “Moriarty’s web has been completely dismantled. You are safe, at least from him. There are still those who you will aggravate later on who I can’t say the same for.”

 

Sherlock’s lips pulled up slightly around the corners in a smile and he went quiet for a moment, shifting his weight as he uncrossed his legs before crossing them again.

 

“There is still the matter of the press of course, which is something you will have to handle brother mine.” Mycroft said as he broke the silence and Sherlock nodded in agreement.

 

“Did you ever find out who leaked my information to them?”

 

“Mary did.” Mycroft answered and went on to explain before Sherlock could interrupt. “She faked a medical release form and sent it to the hospital after you had been discharged no doubt. She would have found out some information from John and used it to her own advantage. “

 

Sherlock sighed and drummed his fingers on his violin for a moment before standing “Now all there is is for me to clean up the mess with the media.” Disappointment and anxiety colored his voice as he set his instrument on its stand, his back to Mycroft. “I supposed it was going to happen sometime.”


	27. Anxiety

John sighed quietly as he watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye as he read the morning paper in his chair. He could feel as well as see the anxiety in the other man’s body as he moved around in an attempt to lesson the building tension in his body. It had been nearly a week since Sherlock confided in him that Mycroft had stopped by to assure him that Moriarty’s web was completely dismantled and that there was nothing more to worry about when it came to the criminal Mastermind. John was more than relieved to hear those words, especially after everything Sherlock had been through: The two years away, the rejection upon his return, his recapture and torture at the hands of Sebastian Moran.

 

However, John knew that Sherlock wasn’t exactly feeling the relief that he was. He sat quietly across from him, hunched over slightly with his elbows on his knees as he clenched his hands together as he tried to find the right words to tell John what was next.

 

“I have to come out and talk to them, You know.”Sherlock said finally, his voice soft and quiet his eyes never really leaving the patch of carpet they were studying. “I can’t rebuild my life if I don’t.”

 

Talking to the media was never really one of Sherlock’s strong points, he despised giving interviews and having photos taken to be splashed all over the pages of the press. It wasn’t like John could blame him either.

 

That was all that had been said on the subject, until last night after dinner had been eaten and the dishes stacked up in the sink to be done later.

 

Sherlock sat at the table while John put away the dinner that Sherlock had made. He was quiet and had a look of concentration on his face as he looked down at his hands on his lap.

 

“John” Sherlock said once the skillet was too set in the sink to be washed later. “I contacted a reporter to get the record straight and he will be coming by tomorrow.”

 

John turned and looked at Sherlock, nodding slightly, surprised at the fact Sherlock had reached out to the press. Perhaps this was something that Sherlock wanted to do sooner rather than later, or perhaps Mycroft had something to do with it. Whichever it was, John didn’t know and didn’t want to get into.

 

“Well, It’s good that you’ve decided to get this over with.” John replied.

 

“Will you stay? For the interview I mean?”

 

“Of course”

 

Now Sherlock was wearing a hole in the carpet, his eyes going from the door to the clock on the wall to the watch on his wrist as he fiddled with his suit jacket (pulling it down, buttoning and unbuttoning it as he moved, playing with his cuffs.) There was a thin line of perspiration that had formed along his brow and hairline, giving away the fact he was most definitely a bit not good.

 

  


"I can't do this John." Sherlock announced as he stopped in front of the John to look at him. "Call them, cancel, tell them I have changed my mind. " his voice was raspy and spiked with panic as he spoke. John lowered the paper and folded it as he looked at Sherlock, taking in the panic in his eyes and the way he stood just a bit too straight, the way his chest rose and fell a bit too rapidly for John’s liking. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected, though he should have. This was a stranger coming to ask questions about Sherlock’s life, the last person who had done it had ruined it.

 

“Sherlock, I need you to take a deep breathe alright?” John asked as he tossed the paper aside as he stood. Sherlock nodded as he closed the space between them. “It is going to be fine. I am going to be here the entire time. You don’t have to answer every question and any question that you feel is too personal doesn’t have to be answered.” He placed his hands on Sherlock’s biceps in a reassuring manner as Sherlock gulped down a decent amount of air.

  


"They'll take my words and twist them john, newspapers and tabloids are infamous for turning things into something their not. You know that. In fact you said it yourself. You saw what that article Kitty Reilly wrote about me did. That just wasn't a few things I said she twisted around, it was my entire life.” Sherlock countered, his eyes focused on John’s face as his hands twitched at his sides before coming up to rest on John’s sides.

  


“She wrote what Moriarty told her, she wanted her big break and he gave her the means to do it. He used her contempt for you as his means to do so. It was all apart of his plan to discredit you. Her fault is falling for it. But this is different Sherlock. This is coming from you, you are in control of the information they get to put out there. No one else.” John stated, his eyes locked on Sherlock’s own as he spoke. “And if it gets twisted and out of hand, that is something we will deal with when the time comes. Right now I just want you to focus on breathing and relaxing just a bit. Just like that good.”

John could feel the tension slowly ease from Sherlock’s body as he breathed deep and let John’s words sink in.

  


Sherlock focused on the pressure on his biceps as he took a deep breath, he focused on John’s words for a few moments as the tension eased away from his muscles. The talking to the media was not something he enjoyed doing and after his last encounter with a reporter he was weary of this one. At first he was alright with it, it seemed easy enough. He just had to answer a few questions and it would all be over with. But the closer the time got to the time of the interview, the more he began to over think it. The more he over thought it, the worse his anxiety over this entire ordeal got. That was until John stepped in. Sweet, wonderful, John who grounded him with a simple touch and reassured him with the idea that it he would not be facing this alone. That was all he could ask for.

He took a deep breath as the doorbell downstairs rang, though he waited a moment to step back from John to right his suit one more time.

“He’s here.”


End file.
